Down to the Depths of Hell
by AlkalineTeegan
Summary: Casefic with ensemble cast. Everyone knows Tony's not happy as agent afloat, but when the team gets some startling news, is all as it seems? Or is something even more disturbing going on? Warnings for language and dark themes. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Well, after drabbling to my little heart's content, I'm back with another multi-chapter story. This is completely outside the realm of my other fics so you needn't read those first to enjoy this one. This takes place just before "Agent Afloat" and is my little invention from that point and moving forward. I own nothing but the ugly sweater I got for Christmas. All characters belong to their respective owners. Enjoy!

* * *

Abby watched the door of her lab, waiting for Gibbs to come down. She wasn't waiting to give him an update on a case, though. She wasn't waiting for a Caf-Pow or a hug, though she could certainly use both.

She was waiting to crush him. To give him news no one should ever have to hear.

She kept thinking how wrong this felt. He should be the one giving her this news. He should be there to hug her and tell her everything was going to be okay.

It was all so wrong. So very, very wrong. Not that anything had been right since the team had been broken up. But things were starting to get back to normal with McGee and Ziva restored to where they belonged. Abby knew Gibbs would get Tony reunited with the team, too.

She just never imagined it would be like this. Never like this.

She choked on a sob at that thought just as Gibbs swept into her lab. Tears streaked black makeup down her pretty face at the sight of him, her silver fox, the head of their weird little family. He would make this right, somehow. He had to—because she couldn't bear to think otherwise.

Gibbs saw the tears and immediately pulled the young scientist into his arms. If he had been baffled by her phone call minutes earlier demanding his immediate presence with no other details, he was truly confounded by her sobbing. The way she was crying—so brokenly—he knew this was serious. Something was very wrong.

"He wouldn't do this, Gibbs. There's no way. There's just no … _fucking_ … way he would do this to me… to us."

Gibbs felt the curse like a slap to the face. He was shocked by the harsh language, but more so by the anger in voice after she had looked so terribly sad just moments ago. He doubted a boyfriend could make her sob like this.

"Who, Abby?"

"Tony," she said, her voice breaking on his name. But then the fury returned to her tear-filled eyes. "Of all the stupid, selfish things he's done. That son of a bitch. He promised me, Gibbs. He goddamn promised."

Well, at least part of that made sense. Tony probably was the one person who could evoke such complex, seemingly polar emotions.

"He's still on the Seahawk, Abbs," Gibbs said, frustrated with Abby's incoherence and furious at DiNozzo for causing it. "What could he possibly have done to upset you this much from there?"

Abby's eyes burned with rage even as the tears slipped down her cheeks. "I won't believe it. I won't," she said resolutely. "He wouldn't. He. Would. Never."

Gibbs watched Abby hug herself and start to rock. He couldn't take it anymore. "Wouldn't WHAT, Abby?" he yelled.

She didn't flinch. She just looked up and met Gibbs' eyes. "I got a call from a doctor on the Seahawk, Gibbs. It's Tony."

Gibbs felt his stomach hit the floor and he stopped breathing, waiting for Abby to tell him his agent—his friend—was dead. He was wholly unprepared for what actually came out of her black-lipsticked mouth.

"They said he tried to kill himself, Gibbs."

* * *

Gibbs felt his jaw drop, a sensation followed by the intense, immediate, almost overwhelming need to hit something. But he just took a deep breath, knowing that if he lost it, Abby would too, and he needed her to answer some of the million questions careening through his dazed head.

"How, Abby?" he asked, amazed—and a little disgusted with himself—at how calm he managed to sound.

"I'm his health care proxy. Have been for years," Abby said blankly. She seemed suddenly exhausted, with no energy left for tears or anger—or anything but numbness.

Gibbs swallowed his frustration. "Okay, Abby. I know that. But how? How did he—" He couldn't speak those words, couldn't give them a voice and therefore truth and reality.

He didn't know where she found the strength to say, "Took a knife to his wrists."

"No," Gibbs spat. "No way. Not DiNozzo."

Abby's eyes shone with her relief but her voice was tired. "That's what I told them. There must be some mistake. Tony would never kill himself. Never."

Gibbs frowned, debating his next words. He had his own doubts, definitely, but Abby's absolute denial would only make things harder if Tony had tried to take his own life. Gibbs decided to try a safer—_ha—_subject first. "How is he, Abby? You said 'tried,' right?"

Abby nodded mutely.

"They tell you anything else?" Gibbs prodded as gently as he could.

Abby took a deep breath. "He's unconscious. Has been since the … since he … well, just _since_. They said he lost a lot of blood before someone … found him. They don't even know if he's going to make it," she finished dully, but the soft words knocked the air from Gibbs' lungs.

He tried to think, to focus on the facts and not his raging emotions. "Abby, listen to me," he said, taking her by the shoulders. "He's DiNozzo. He'll make it. I don't think he would do this either. But I need you to at least consider that he did this to himself—that he wanted to die."

Abby homed in on the one thing she wanted to hear. "You don't think he would, either, Gibbs. You just said it. You think something else is going on. Someone did this to him."

Gibbs paused, debating the best way to crush the fragile hope that had bloomed brightly in her eyes. "Abby, that's not realistic. It's possible that someone hurt him and made it look like a suicide attempt, but you have to know that's unlikely."

"But you said—"

"Abby, that's not what I meant when I said I didn't think he would do it. I meant not like this, not cutting." He looked into Abby's expressive green eyes. "DiNozzo would eat his gun first, if he was going to kill himself."

Abby flinched as if Gibbs had slapped her. But she just dropped her eyes to her hands knotted in her lap. The mossy orbs were filled with anguish when she looked back up.

She whispered, "But Gibbs, that's how … that's how she did it."

"Who, Abbs?" he asked tiredly, already knowing the answer.

A single tear slipped down her black-streaked face. "His mother."


	2. Chapter 2

**Earlier**

_He was walking toward the fantail again. He was alone and the sea glittered around him like diamonds on rolling black velvet. It was about to storm. He felt it in his joints, in the deep aching of long-since broken and mended bones. He felt it like electricity in the cool night air._

_He made his way to the edge and looked down at the sea boiling in the wake of the ship. The whitecaps looked like frosting atop the surging waves, and it made him hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. The bottle in his hand suddenly caught his eye. He lifted it and winced as the amber liquid stung his throat. No worries. At least he was staying hydrated. _

_He sat on the smooth metal of the ship's deck and tossed the empty bottle into the sea. Who was going to arrest him, anyway? He was the only cop in this floating town. _

_He looked up at the night sky, marveling at how it was an almost perfect mirror of the blackened water below. Stars glittered down at him coldly, their intense heat reduced to nothingness by the immense distance. It made him think of the letters he received from Abby. He didn't think anything could dim her radiance. He was wrong. The distance, the time apart, the uncertainty of their reunion quieted her bouncy voice and the letters simply made him sad now. They made him ache for the way things were. _

_The first fat drop surprised him when it landed on his left hand. He looked down at the solitary speck of moisture and was surprised again to find the bottle back in his hand. That's funny. I remember chucking it overboard just a minute ago. _

_He didn't feel like sitting in the rain and getting soaked. He took a long pull from the bottle and sent it to join its mate in their soggy grave. He really didn't feel like getting soaked. So he simply slid from his perch at the back of the massive ship. _

_He fell as if through cotton, barely making a splash in the water below. He felt himself being enveloped in the warm embrace of the ocean, the lapping waves moving soothingly over him in a rhythm as old as time. He smiled. _

_He found himself thinking of chaos theory as he sank slowly, languidly toward sweet oblivion. If the flap of a butterfly's wing could cause a tsunami thousands of miles away, what would his dropping into the ocean cause? Would there be an effect? That's how it works, right? Cause, effect. Action, reaction. Maybe he could get away with defying the laws of nature just this once. Maybe no one would notice. We're all ultimately inconsequential anyway, right? Just blips on the radar screen of time, really. _

_Really?_

_No! Suddenly he couldn't breathe and that terrified him. He saw the sun as a hazy egg yolk hovering just above the surface and kicked with all his might toward it. Wait, that's not right. It was just night. It was just raining. Whatever. He knew he had to get to the surface, to get back to breathing precious air, to get everything back to normal. _

"_Kick harder."_

_The voice was loud and authoritative and right beside him. He would have jumped if he hadn't been submerged at the moment. _

"_You can do this, I know you can."_

_This voice was softer—and decidedly less annoyed. But similarly caffeinated. It held the conviction of a child but the strength of a lioness. _

"_Bet I can beat you to the top."_

_This voice was teasing, challenging, and slightly accented. _

"_There's a complex mathematical equation I could give you to maximize the effectiveness of your kicking."_

_The latest voice was straight out of haughty MIT—but sweetly concerned, too. _

_He listened to these voices as he kicked toward the surface—dark again, he noticed. Just how long had he been struggling? The voices gave him strength and forced him to remember that he was not alone. He was not inconsequential. Action, reaction. _

_He pointedly ignored the voices from below. They were the voices of the lost, whose disembodied fingers pulled at his shoelaces, caressed his ankles with dark whispered promises, and spoke sweetly of soft, unceasing, soothing silence. _

Tony awoke with a gasp, his body jerking upright with a jolt. He took a deep, shuddering breath and was glad he'd fallen asleep in his chair in his small office instead of in the rack. Last time he'd awoken from the dream, he'd smacked his head so hard it had left a mark. _Try explaining that to everyone around you_, he thought, but then he rolled his eyes. It was actually ridiculously easy to explain away the faint bruise to his shipmates. As he'd said to the cook who'd asked about it, "Low clearances and tall people just don't mix. Like hillbillies and firecrackers. At least I didn't lose a finger."

Tony yawned and stretched, trying to shake off the last vestiges of the recurring nightmare that had been plaguing him for weeks. He shuddered at his own thoughts, _plaguing_ was probably the wrong word to bring up. Knowing there was no better way to clear the mind than to punish the body, he changed into workout clothes and headed for the gym. It was nearly 4 a.m. and while the ship was like the Big Apple in that it never slept, the corridors were deserted as he made his way to what he referred to as the "treeless park."

He never thought it possible to miss his tree-lined running path so badly. He sighed heavily as he punched the display on the treadmill a bit harder than necessary. What he wouldn't give to breathe fresh air and feel pavement under his sneakers. He pushed aside the self-pity and ran a couple of miles before giving up. He smacked the stop button hard enough to make his hand sting and headed for a shower. He made quick work of the task, suddenly feeling completely exhausted. _Naturally, _he thought, _it's almost 5 a.m. and the ship is about to start coming alive again, and _now_ I'm tired. _

All he wanted was to go back to his tiny office, collapse onto the cot there, and sleep the day away. He made his way back, nodding greetings to the sailors who were up and moving. But his mind was on the cot. He remembered how easy it had been to get permission to set it up and sleep in his office. He'd played the captain like a Stradivarius, appealing to the kindness he'd seen in the man's eyes.

"_Agent DiNozzo, I hear you've been sleeping your office. There something wrong with your bunk?"_

"_No, sir. I just like sleeping there. Plus I'm better prepared to act if I'm needed in my duties as agent afloat."_

_The captain eyed him, judging him like a human lie-detector test. _Gibbs would be proud of that stare_, he thought, wincing at the memory of his boss. He wished the man was here now to headslap him for that silly lie. He'd have to do better than that. _

"_Listen, sir," he said, softening his voice and letting some of his bone-deep weariness seep into his eyes. "I've been a cop for a long time. A couple police departments before NCIS, and I've seen some shit, pardon the language. But there's no other way to describe it. I could tell you stories that would make your ears bleed. And, like a lot of cops, I … well, sometimes I…"_

"_Have nightmares?" Captain Fordham supplied kindly._

_Tony tried not to grin as the man played right into his oh-so capable hands. _It really shouldn't be this easy, _he thought as he nodded pathetically, keeping his eyes downcast. _

"_I don't want the men I bunk with to know, sir. I'm the agent afloat, the only cop in town, so to speak. They need to see me as a figure of authority."_

_The captain nodded. "Of course, Agent DiNozzo. Requisition whatever you need to make yourself comfortable. You have my sympathies."_

"_Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it."_

He smiled to himself as he settled his long frame onto the cot and closed his eyes. Maybe he could catch an hour of sleep before he had to get up.

Maybe it would be an hour _without_ the nightmares.


	3. Chapter 3

**Present**

Gibbs held Abby until she'd cried herself out. His mind was reeling. A very strong part of him couldn't believe that DiNozzo would try to kill himself. A smaller, but no less determined, part reminded him of his last conversation with Tony. Surely he'd been joking about jumping overboard. Life as agent afloat was never easy. You were literally a police force of one, destined to be alone for most of your deployment because no one wanted the only cop in town in their business. Even something as simple as a poker game for real stakes could ruin a career.

Gibbs knew this fate was especially hard on someone like DiNozzo, who was so thoroughly a social creature. He craved attention—lived on it, really—and needed companionship like pianos need tuning. To be alone, but more importantly, to be so _disliked_ would certainly eat at him.

But then again, this was _Tony_—the man who could make a joke out of anything, who had endured a lot for one lifetime and still possessed such vitality. Gibbs knew his agent had had a rough childhood, even if he didn't know the details. Tony had let slip so little about his upbringing, yet the jokes and seemingly offhand comments spoke volumes about the pain he was covering with humor.

Mostly, Gibbs didn't know what to think—and that's what was really bothering him. He was a black and white kind of guy; gray areas weren't really his thing. But he didn't need to think; he needed to do something.

"Abby?"

She sniffled and met his eyes, her green ones showing such suffering that he almost pulled her into his arms again. He felt a flare of anger at DiNozzo. As Abby had said, of all the selfish things to do…

"Abby, I'm going to talk to the director. I'm telling him that until we know otherwise, we'll be investigating this as attempted murder of a federal agent. I wish there was time for me to do it myself, but I need you to tell McGee and Ziva what's going on. Get Ducky, too. Can you do that?"

Abby looked horror-stricken for a moment at having to go through this again, but she knew Gibbs would have the harder battle with Vance. She nodded and turned to pick up the phone. Gibbs headed for the door, but stopped at Abby's words.

"He wouldn't, Gibbs," she said softly, but with steel in her voice. "He wouldn't and you know it."

* * *

"It's standard procedure, _Director_," Gibbs said, emphasizing the title with thinly veiled disgust. "We always investigate suicides—and therefore perceived attempts—as murders until we find out otherwise. An agent afloat is inherently vulnerable because of the lack of backup. You have no idea what happened out there, and I'm simply asking for a chance to do my job—to go investigate."

"I know it's procedure," Vance snapped. He studied the man in front of him. He saw the worry in the other man's eyes, but he stuck to his guns. He hadn't become the director by being easily swayed. "But do you really think it should be your team that goes to investigate? His team?"

"This stopped being 'his team' when you shipped him out there," Gibbs replied coldly. "So no conflict of interest."

"It's not conflict of interest that I'm worried about," Vance said. His tone softened almost imperceptibly. "Do you really think your team can be objective about this? You all were together a long time and I doubt they, any of you—even you, Gibbs—can objectively investigate the fact that your friend reached a breaking point and took a knife to his wrists."

It took no small effort on Gibbs' part to not flinch at that image. He narrowed his eyes and fixed Vance with a glare. "Sounds like an open and shut case, Director. Why bother investigating? Why bother taking into consideration that the man who 'reached a breaking point' has given so much for this job. He's been drugged, beaten, shot at, and hell, he almost died of the plague for this job. He's busted his ass to help others, going days at a time without sleep. When's the last time you changed clothes here, Vance? And now that he needs a little help, we're supposed to just turn our backs? I don't think so, _Director._"

Vance was silent. He blew out the breath he'd been holding as he reached a decision. "That's a lot of words for you, Gibbs. You're not going down without a fight, I see."

Gibbs smiled a little snarl of a smile. "DiNozzo's worth fighting for," he said simply.

Vance nodded. "Fine. Take your team out to the Seahawk. Investigate. You've got three days, and I want reports every day."

"I'm taking Abby, too," Gibbs said.

"Really?" Vance asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Really."

"No."

Gibbs' hands balled into fists at his sides. "She's his health care proxy. She needs to be there."

"She's also my best forensic scientist and I need her here," Vance said, watching Gibbs bristle at his use of the possessive. "She can make any decisions that need to be made by phone."

"And if communication is down? And something happens?" Gibbs asked, letting anger color his voice so the fear wouldn't bleed through.

Vance smiled a predatory smile. "Come on, now, Gibbs. You won one, you get to go investigate. You're not winning this one. I know my people. And I know you're his contingency proxy. In the event of a communication failure, I'm sure you'll know just what to do. If you want to press this issue, though, be my guest. But know that you might just talk me _out_ of letting you go at all."

Gibbs fumed. He turned for the door and threw a succinct "Thank you, _sir_" over his shoulder.

* * *

Gibbs found Abby in her lab, surrounded by the team. He studied the faces of his team—his friends. McGee looked even more devastated than Abby, who had settled into a sort of trance-like state of numbness. Gibbs had figured Tim would take this hard. For all their teasing and pranking, Gibbs knew McGee looked up to DiNozzo with an odd mix of hero-worship and little-brother pride.

Ziva stood stone-faced, and it did not escape Gibbs' notice that she had distanced herself physically from the group. She had spent the least amount of time around Tony, but Gibbs didn't think that made this any easier for her. The difference, Gibbs thought as he scanned her eyes, was that she didn't know him well enough to have the strength of Abby's conviction. Gibbs knew the second he laid eyes on her that she could—and would—believe that DiNozzo had tried to end his life.

Ducky and Palmer stood shoulder to shoulder, the younger man's hands shaking slightly. They all dealt daily in death, but this was different. This wasn't the senseless loss of life by accident or chance—or even violence. This was the deliberate choice of someone—of their _friend—_to give up. Gibbs could see by the faint glimmer of anger in Ducky's eyes that he, too, wasn't harboring any real doubts about what DiNozzo had done.

And that was what scared Gibbs the most. Ducky, with all of his training in psychological profiling, probably knew Tony the best, from a clinical standpoint, if not from the position of a friend. Gibbs knew Tony had grown closer to both Ducky and Palmer during his "retirement" and he needed to talk to Ducky—alone—as soon as possible.

One thing was certain, though: For all the varying reactions and emotions swirling through the room, everyone was looking to Gibbs to step up and be their leader. They needed that sense of normalcy; they needed to know that for all the chaos, at least some things would not change.

Feeling the groups' collective eyes on him, Gibbs took a breath and said, "Vance is allowing me to take the team and go investigate."

Abby knew immediately what that meant. "Gibbs, that's not fair. I need to be there. What if... Gibbs, what if..."

She couldn't say it, and no one finished her thoughts. Gibbs simply pulled her into a hug. "Shhh, Abbs. It's going to be okay. I'll be there, and we'll be in contact as much as possible."

Abby didn't speak, she just pulled away and stared at the floor. Gibbs tried not to feel guilty that he hadn't won that particular battle with Vance, but he knew winning the war was more important.

"What now, Boss?" McGee asked bleakly. He looked thoroughly lost.

"Pack your bags. We're catching a ride to the Seahawk first thing in the morning. Try to get some sleep," he added, knowing none of them would. "Go now. There's nothing else to do."

McGee and Ziva silently filed out, and Ducky gave Jimmy a nudge.

Palmer gave Abby a silent hug and left the lab.

"Tell him, Ducky," Abby blurted as soon as they were gone. "Tell him there's no way Tony would do this."

Ducky sighed heavily and perched on a stool. "Abigail, I've told you. I just don't know. Without being able to examine the wounds, I can't tell if they were self-inflicted or not."

Gibbs was slightly shocked by Ducky's words but he hid it well. He caught the doctor's eye and suddenly understood. The old man just couldn't bear to crush Abby's hope. "Come on, Duck. I'll walk you back to autopsy."

"No, no way, Gibbs," Abby said, shooting to her feet, her anger reawakening her energy. "Whatever you two are going to say, I deserve to hear it."

"Abigail," Ducky started patiently but he flinched at the glare she threw at him at the use of her full name. "Abby, I tried to tell what I thought but you didn't want to hear it. There are certain facts in life that we cannot change, no matter how hard we try."

"So you're saying you think he did it?" Abby fairly yelled.

"You must calm down, Abby," Ducky said, meeting Gibbs' eyes over Abby's head, which was now cradled against Gibbs' chest. "Let's not draw any conclusions until we have all the facts."

"I hate this," Abby whispered, her words muffled by Gibbs' tear-stained shirt. "I just hate this. I hate _him_. How could he do this to us?"

Neither man had an answer for her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Earlier**

_He was on his couch in his apartment, a warm body tangled with his. He looked down and saw black hair, and it made him smile. _

Tony awoke with that same smile, but it faded once he realized where he was. His happy glow was replaced with a deep sense of loss that he could feel aching in his chest. He shook his head as he sat up, oddly wishing it had been the nightmare again. At least the nightmare didn't hurt like this.

He got up and dressed, then tried to get some work done. But all he could think of was that night, his last night before he shipped out.

_"Abby?" he whispered. "Are you up?"_

_"No," came the softly mumbled reply, but he could hear the smile in Abby's sleepy voice. She stretched, pressing against the length of his body, and he found himself thinking that if Gibbs walked in, his boss would probably kill him before either of them got the chance to explain that they were simply friends, and neither had any desire to be anything else. _

_"We didn't make it, did we?" she asked, sitting up and stretching her arms over her head. _

_"_You_ didn't," he replied, yawning and watching Abby get up only to curl into the black leather overstuffed chair beside the couch. _

_"And you did?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in disbelief. "That movie is like 30 hours long and we've seen it a thousand times."_

_"It's _The Godfather,_" he said, still horizontal and enjoying the hell out of it. "Of course I made it."_

_She was smiling, but the smile faded as she studied him. "You scare me sometimes, Tony," she said softly._

_The sincerity in her voice made him blink and sit up. There was a sadness in her eyes that made him ache. He hated himself for putting that look in her eyes, and he'd do anything to take it away. "Abby?"_

_She frowned a little and finally said, "I can't tell when you're lying anymore. And I don't think I ever really could, honestly. It scares me. No one should be that good at hiding from his friends."_

_"I'm not hiding, Abbs," he said, realizing it was still dark out. He checked the clock: 5 a.m. _Not _the time to be having this conversation, and certainly not with someone as perceptive as Abby. "Although I am going to be gone for a while."_

_"I can't believe that jackass turns your life upside down and only gives you a day to pack," Abby growled. Her tone lightened a bit. "You know, the things I could do to him and they'd never know it was me..."_

_Tony gave her a genuine smile. "That's sweet of you to offer to ice the director for me, Abbs, but I'm shipping out tomorrow—well, today—and there's nothing either of us can do about it."_

_"Gibbs either," Abby said darkly, and Tony knew she was unsettled by the fact that even their fearless leader couldn't fix this. Hell, so was he, if he was honest with himself. Just the thought of leaving them—all of them—was enough to make him feel sick. He'd never admit it, but he was terrified and heartsick at the thought of leaving his makeshift family—the only real family he'd ever known. _

_Tony popped to his feet, suddenly unable to breathe. Abby followed him to his small balcony and put a gentle hand on his shoulder before pulling him into a full-on bone-crushing hug. "This isn't fair," she whispered against his neck. _

_He wrapped his arms around her and spoke against her soft black hair. "I'm sorry, Abby."_

_She pulled back with a suddenness that made him shudder from the loss of her warmth. "Don't you dare apologize, Tony. You didn't do this."_

_The corner of his mouth quirked up but there was pain in his eyes. "But, Abby, I did."_

_She punched him. _

_"Anthony DiNozzo, don't you goddamn dare blame yourself for Jenny's crazy suicide mission. She let herself get killed in that diner. She ordered you and Ziva to stay away knowing full well what she was up against. That is _not_ your fault. And you don't owe her shit, as far as I'm concerned. She used you like a pawn in her _other_ crazy mission, against the Frog, and she damn near destroyed you doing it. She had no right to play with your emotions like that, to _hurt_ you like that. And you could have died, Tony, because of her. For a while, you _were_ dead to us, and even though it was only temporary, every second of it was pure hell. You're still here and she's not, and it's not your fault. She made those decisions. Hell, Tony, she knew she was dying."_

_"We're all dying, Abbs."_

_Normally she would have smiled at that, but she just looked more angry. "I'm not doing this with you, not on your last night here. It's not your fault she's dead, and it's not your fault Vance is an ass. End of story."_

_She locked eyes with him and dared him to argue. Her glare softened when she saw the exhaustion and sadness in his face. She hugged him again and tried to ignore the trembling she felt in his body. Finally, she pasted a smile she didn't feel onto her face and pulled back. _

_"You'd better write me every damned day, DiNozzo."_

Tony set aside the file he was working on, partly because he needed to write to Abby and partly because he had no desire to finish writing up the two sailors he'd discovered having a relationship on board. The two men had been among the few to actually talk to him and welcome him aboard, and they were just genuinely nice guys—who happened to be violating Navy policy by simply being in love. But it was his job to enforce those policies, whether he agreed with them or not. Part of him wanted to write them up for something less devastating: It would still give them each a slap on the wrist and he would have done his job without losing even more precious sleep over it. He decided to ignore the file for now. It was just another in a long line of crappy situations, and in his present state of mind, he just couldn't make himself deal with it.

"Abby," he typed, then sighed. He didn't have anything new to say. He still hated being on the damned ship. He still felt guilty about Jenny. He still was drinking too much just so he could get some semblance of sleep. He still thought about her—all of them—while he stared at the ceiling on the nights he didn't drink. He still ached with a loneliness he hadn't felt since childhood. He still wanted to go home. He still missed them all so much it hurt.

He closed the word document with a harder click than necessary and found himself wondering what McGee would say about his less-than-gentle use of sensitive computer equipment. He wasn't surprised that he missed the probie almost as much as he missed Abby. He had no one to prank or tease here—not that he could anyway. As agent afloat, he knew he had to project an image of complete authority. His antics would not be appreciated here, and more importantly, they could put him in danger if some reckless sailor decided he was an easy target.

The lack of backup was just more thing about being agent afloat that had him unsettled. He had gotten used to being part of a team, to being able to count on someone he trusted to have his six. Tony didn't hand out trust easily, thanks to a truly horrific childhood that had taught him to rely on himself and no one else. He remembered the first time he'd gone into a dangerous situation and hadn't actually looked over his shoulder to make sure Gibbs was there. That day, he knew he'd accomplished something important.

And now it was gone. _Better to have loved and lost, my ass_, he thought.

He was pathetically glad that McGee was tucked safely down in the basement in cyber crimes. He wasn't sure he could handle not knowing what the probie was up to and who was watching out for him. The thought of Gibbs in the field with a team full of strangers still kept him up at night—and he knew Gibbs could handle himself, always had. Imagining McGee in that situation made him feel shaky.

And if worrying about who was watching Gibbs' back had him in knots, the thought of Ziva running around doing who knows what for Mossad was simply unbearable. He mostly just tried not to think about it.

The problem with that, though, was that being confined to a ship—a big ship, no doubt, but still a floating prison—left him with a lot of time to think. He didn't hang out with anyone, thanks to everyone's fear of him and his position. There was one person, though, who didn't seem to either hate him or fear him, and that was Benny Lyman, a young cook from Louisiana who aspired to be a chef when his time with the Navy was up. No one complained when Benny was running the kitchen, Tony included.

Tony had run into Benny late one night in the gym and the young man had struck up a conversation. Tony assumed the kid didn't know who he was and he didn't offer the information. He had been so glad for some actual, unstilted conversation that he hadn't even felt guilty. The conversation had centered around what they were both doing in the gym at 3 in the morning, and Tony learned that the young chef suffered from severe insomnia. He also learned that breaking into the kitchen for the most delicious late-night snack he'd ever had was extremely stress-relieving—for Benny, too, because for once he didn't have to worry about getting caught.

Speaking of getting caught, Tony jumped about a mile when someone rapped hard on the door to his office and he realized he'd been staring blankly at his screensaver for over ten minutes.

_Hell, _he thought, _What now?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Present**

Ducky was waiting for Gibbs in the hall when the agent managed to disentangle himself from Abby. Neither spoke until they had reached the silence of autopsy.

"So what are you not saying, Duck?" Gibbs asked, pretense be damned, as usual.

Ducky sighed again, and Gibbs couldn't remember a time when he'd seen the doctor look so sad and tired. _Well, when_ _Kate..._

"I really did tell her what I thought," Ducky began, staring off into space. He shook his head wearily. "Perhaps that was my mistake. But I couldn't let her go on thinking this is some big conspiracy when we all know how unlikely that is. I thought by being frank with her that she would start to believe that Tony is capable of attempting suicide."

"So you think he did try?"

Ducky blinked in surprise. "You think he didn't?"

It was Gibbs' turn to sigh. "Hell, Duck. I don't know. A conspiracy theory sounds so far-fetched, but I can't imagine DiNozzo trying to kill himself. But if you think he's capable..."

Ducky gave Gibbs a funny little look. "Jethro, we are all capable."

Gibbs threw up his hands. "No psychobabble please, _doctor_."

"They say it's always the ones you least expect?" Ducky ventured.

"Not funny," Gibbs said. "Hell, that's something I'd expect ... well, Tony to say."

"I'm sorry," Ducky said sincerely. "You know, it's okay to be upset. In fact, it's quite a normal reaction to something like this. Perhaps the hardest part is realizing that we don't know our Anthony as well as we thought we did."

Gibbs snorted. "No one knows DiNozzo. He won't let 'em."

They were silent a moment, mulling the truth in the statement. Ducky finally spoke. "Do you really think there's a chance he didn't do this to himself?"

Gibbs looked at his friend for a long moment. He rubbed a hand over his face. "If it was any other way—any other method—I'd just accept it. I wouldn't like it, but at least I could believe it if he'd put his gun in his mouth. But the cutting, it's so..."

"Feminine," Ducky finished with a wry smile. "This time we're not being a pair of old chauvinists. The genders often segregate themselves in manner of suicide. Men are more likely to use a gun; women cut or take pills."

"But his mother," Gibbs said, wishing this was all a bad dream. They shouldn't even be having this conversation. He felt his anger rising again and immediately felt bad for wanting to turn his rage against DiNozzo.

"Ah, yes, that does complicate things," Ducky said, nodding. He seemed to be debating his next words.

"Spit it out, Duck," Gibbs said, not unkindly.

A hint of a smile touched the doctor's lips. "I think I should be just as frank with you as I was with Abigail."

"I'd appreciate that."

"Anthony is extremely adept at hiding his true feelings. We both know that. He can hide in plain sight, as his relationship with Jeanne demonstrated. When I think of how he must have suffered, having to lie to everyone for so long, it just breaks my heart. The ones who should have been supporting him became the enemy, in a manner of speaking. If he was so convincing then, it doesn't surprise me that none of us saw this coming with him being in such limited contact."

Gibbs considered that before speaking. Ducky was shocked by the pain in his icy blue eyes when he said, "He made a joke about jumping overboard the last time I talked to him. I thought it was just him being... him. But he was obviously unhappy, and Abby's been on me to get him back. I should have made her give me his letters. I need to know, Duck. Should I have seen this?"

The doctor patted Gibbs' arm, the look in his eyes knowing. "I just answered that for you, Jethro. He's very good with smoke and mirrors. Too good, really. Of course you couldn't have known." He paused, then seemed to make up his mind about something. "That's the problem, isn't it, my friend? The only reason you're entertaining theories that something else is going on here is that you feel guilty for not recognizing the signs in him and doing something to stop him."

"Glad you share my thoughts on sugarcoating," Gibbs said wryly.

"This is not your fault. You could not have done anything to stop it. And I think it's high time we all stop talking like he's dead. He isn't. Go home, Jethro. Follow your advice to your team and get some sleep. You all are going to have a long day tomorrow."

* * *

Gibbs didn't bother trying to sleep. He went down to the basement and began to sand. He was on his second mug of bourbon when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He turned, shaking himself mentally when he realized he was half-expecting DiNozzo and a lazy comment about the dangers of sanding under the influence.

"Hey, Boss."

Gibbs couldn't help it. He flinched at the name. "McGee. Couldn't sleep?"

Tim nodded, his eyes downcast.

"Me neither," Gibbs said simply, turning his attention back to the boat. "Drink?"

McGee's eyes went wide when he realized what his boss was offering. Tony may have been a frequent visitor to the basement and its alternate-reality atmosphere, but McGee was unaccustomed to this version of Gibbs.

"No thank you," McGee said, fighting not to add a "sir" to the end.

Gibbs smiled as he leaned into the boat. He wondered how long McGee would last in the silence and tried not to think about Tony's first visit to the basement. The smile lingered as he remembered just how wrong he'd been when estimating the length of time Tony could sit silently. The kid had lasted almost an hour, refusing to speak first but then letting everything out in a drunken babble that had lasted about half as long. Might have had something to do with the number of refills Gibbs had poured into his agent's mug that night.

"I just want to stop thinking," McGee finally said, breaking Gibbs out of his reverie. He focused on the agent at hand and nodded, silently encouraging him to go on.

"I mean, I'm a thinking kind of guy. I feel like any problem can be solved if you just think about it long enough to figure it out, to figure out what you're missing. But this isn't like that. I can't figure it out. I can't figure out why he would do something like this. I can't even begin to _imagine_ him doing it at all, never mind figuring out _how_ he could do it. But I just keep thinking about it. And then I realized something. I figured out what I was missing. It's _Tony _that I'm missing. I don't know him at all. I don't think I ever did."

Gibbs watched McGee think out loud from the corner of his eye, thinking if this was sober McGee, drunk McGee would be ten times more difficult. But still he went to the workbench and dumped out a mug of nails. He returned to the stairs where McGee had slumped into a nervous, baffled heap, and he held out the glass.

McGee regarded it as he would a lit stick of dynamite.

"I'll make it an order if that makes it easier," Gibbs said wryly.

McGee took the glass and took a tentative sip, wincing at the bite of the alcohol. "Thanks."

Gibbs went back to the boat, effectively hiding his grin at the face McGee was making. He picked up a screwdriver and went to work, all the while studing his agent surrepticiously. McGee sat in silence for a while, sipping slowly and obviously trying to gather his thoughts into something coherent.

"I'm just so ... _angry_ ... with him."

_Well that's interesting, _Gibbs thought, '_cause you look like you're gonna cry._

"How could he do this to us?" McGee asked, then continued, obviously not expecting an answer. "But beyond that, how could he do this? I just can't wrap my head around it, Boss. I can't even begin to imagine Tony trying to kill himself. He's got to be the strongest person I know."

McGee blushed bright red and was about to add an "except you" when Gibbs' soft words stopped him cold.

"Suicide's about pain, Tim, not strength."

Gibbs half-expected tears so he was surprised when he got anger instead.

"Then why the hell wouldn't he come to us?" McGee exploded, shooting to his feet. He slammed the glass to the floor, barely noticing when it shattered into an impromptu mosaic of glittering pieces. "We're his friends, goddammit. If he was ... if he felt that ... We could have ... We _should _have ..."

McGee slumped back down to the stair, his head in his hands. Gibbs watched him try to calm his breathing and tried to think of something to say to make this better. But he knew there was nothing.

McGee finally got his breathing under control and looked up sheepishly at his boss. "I'm sorry about the glass."

Gibbs just lifted a shoulder and turned back to the boat. "I've got plenty more."


	6. Chapter 6

**Earlier**

"Enter!" Tony yelled at whomever was pounding the hell out of his door.

The door opened and not one but two people rushed into the small office, crowding the space with both their physical presence and their obviously emotional states.

Tony recognized Petty Officer Hannah Squire, mostly because she was gorgeous and had a smile for everyone she came in contact with. He often found himself wishing he'd met her on dry land instead of this floating hell.

The man who'd obviously been attempting to dent the door was a lieutenant, judging by his insignia. Tony didn't know him, but he sure as hell recognized the anger in the officer's eyes.

He also saw the fear and shame in the young woman's eyes, and he braced himself for what he knew was going to be a long conversation.

"What can I do for you, Petty Officer Squire?" Tony asked, trying to keep the weariness out of his voice and noting with a touch of amusement the outrage in the officer's expression that he had not been addressed first.

"Well, Agent DiNozzo," she began nervously, and he was surprised she knew his name. Then again, it shouldn't have been so unbelievable: The sailors probably knew his name very well even if they had no desire to actually know _him. _

"Miss Squire is here to make a false accusation," the man cut in coldly.

Tony bit back a sigh and stood, pulling himself to his full height so as to tower over the shorter man. His voice was hard when he said, "It's Petty Officer Squire, _sir_, and I suggest you show her some respect."

The man scoffed. "Like she deserves respect. Little whore."

Squire flinched as if she'd been slapped, and Tony's anger ratcheted up several notches. "State your name, officer," he barked, staying planted firmly in the man's space.

The man spoke, eyes straight forward, refusing to look up the six inches or so needed to meet Tony's. "Lieutenant Edward Daly."

"Well, _Lieutenant,_" Tony said, his voice dripping disdain even as he realized he recognized the name, if not the face, "unless you have some sort of official business to conduct here with me, you can leave."

_If looks could kill_, Tony thought, watching the man trying to come up with a way to argue with that. _Or trying not to choke the life out of me. I'd kill to have a partner right now—to separate these two and get them talking. Too bad all my partners are in DC... or Israel._

Daly finally found his voice. "I do have official business, Agent DiNozzo. I'm here to lodge an official complaint against Petty Officer Squire."

"Concerning?" Tony asked.

"Her filing a false report."

Tony almost rolled his eyes, knowing where this was going. Instead, he let a lazy smile creep across his face as he leaned back against his desk, arms loosely crossed against his chest. "Well, then. Why didn't you say so?"

He watched Daly barely suppress a smug smile and saw Squire's face fall. _Just give me a minute,_ he silently willed her. "So hand over the report and I'll take a look, Lieutenant."

Daly's smile dropped like a stone, and Tony saw Squire's eyes brighten.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Tony said, pushing himself off the desk and going to the door. "Waste my time like this again, Daly, and I'll write _you_ up. Got it?"

Daly moved toward the door, throwing twin daggers at Tony and Hannah. "This isn't over, Agent DiNozzo."

"I hope not," Tony said sincerely and almost laughed at the outraged face he got in return. He simply closed the door and turned to Hannah, nodding to the other chair in the room. He didn't miss how wearily she dropped into it. He took a seat and adopted a relaxed posture.

"Talk to me."

Hannah looked at her hands, and it took Tony a moment to realize she was crying silently.

"Hey," he said, his tone gentle. He thought about touching her, but didn't. He would have put a gentle, unthreatening hand on a civilian's knee or hand, but the rules were different here, as if he needed another reminder that he was far from home. "I can't help if I don't know what's going on."

She looked up at him and he noticed for the hundredth time how startling bright and clear her blue eyes were. Seeing her this close, though, he realized that the irises were ringed in a deeper blue so dark it was almost black. Combined with her blond hair and lithe figure, it was no wonder she turned heads.

"I slept with him," she said simply.

_Here we go again, _he thought, suddenly wishing sailors were asexual beings. He simply nodded. "So you two had consensual sex?"

A small nod.

"On the ship?" he asked.

Another nod.

"Where?"

She looked up, confused.

"I need to know," he said.

"A storage room."

"Which one?" he asked, reaching for a notepad and pen. When he turned back, there were fresh tears leaking down her face. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I know this is hard and you're worried about your career. But I need to know specifics. Which storage room?"

She sniffled and met his eyes. He was surprised to find them burning with shame. "I don't remember."

He narrowed his eyes. "Petty Officer Squire, you said it was consensual. Are you sure about that?"

Her eyes dropped back to her hands. "Yes."

Tony set the notebook aside and cursed the fact that he was male. He found himself suddenly fiercely wishing for Kate. Hell, even Ziva would probably be better at this. "Hannah," he said, figuring ranks didn't much figure into what the young woman was going through, and then wondering if that was really the case. It wouldn't be the first time a superior officer had used his or her rank for sex. "Did he rape you?"

Her words said no but her shaking and tears—the way she refused to meet his eyes—said yes.

_Well, shit._

"How about we start somewhere else?" he said. "How well do you know Lieutenant Daly?"

She lifted a shoulder. "I've seen him around the ship. He passes by the infirmary every day to get to his office. I'm a nurse."

"Did you talk to him often when you saw him?"

"No. He tried to talk to me, but I was usually busy. I don't like being distracted while I'm working. I mean, he's good-looking and about my age and all, but I just never had time to make conversation."

"Did you get a bad feeling about him? The way he looked at you?"

"Not at all. Like I said, I was just busy. The one other time I saw him, in the gym, he seemed really nice. And that's why last night when he asked me to come hang out with him and some of his buddies, I said yes."

Tony ignored the flash of jealousy at the thought of just simply being able to hang out without people being suspicious of his motives. He shoved it aside, though, and just listened.

"Then the group broke up, and Eddie and I went to the storage room to be alone. I honestly went just to talk, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony wasn't sure if he believed her so he simply nodded encouragingly.

"And we did talk," she continued, picking at her fingernails. "And then, well, one thing led to another, and..."

"I need you to finish, please, Petty Officer."

She looked up, her cheeks bright with embarrassment. "We had sex. That's it. End of story."

Tony studied her, trying to figure out whether her discomfort stemmed from being embarrassed about admitting to having sex in general or whether it was admitting to being with an officer that was causing the blush. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, and he knew if he'd gotten any sort of decent sleep the night before, it would probably be readily apparent. He mentally Gibbs-slapped himself and imagined a barked "Focus!"

It worked. Suddenly, he sat up straighter. "That's not the whole story, is it, Petty Officer Squire?"

"I don't know what you mean," she whispered.

"I think you do," he said, keeping the bite out of his voice. He still wasn't entirely convinced that she had given consent. "Something else happened. You and Daly wouldn't storm my office first thing in the morning to readily confess your sins. If nothing else happened, if no one saw you, you could both pretend it didn't happen and go your separate ways."

She didn't speak, so he continued, "Either he raped you and you've changed your mind about reporting it, or someone saw you and threatened to rat you two out."

"It... it was the captain," she said quietly.

Tony almost fell out of his chair. "_Captain Fordham_ caught you two in a random storage room in the middle of the night?"

She blushed brighter. "He said he couldn't sleep and went for a walk. He said he heard us. He was waiting for us when we came out."

_Of all the dumb luck,_ Tony thought. _Bad, bad, dumb luck..._

"He said it would look better if we came forward ourselves. It was nice of him to do that, I guess."

"He probably saved your career," Tony said quietly, knowing the captain was also covering his ass. There was a recent case out of Norfolk in which a Commander had been relieved of his duties as the direct result of multiple fraternization violations among his crew.

"What happens now?" she asked, finally meeting his eyes.

"I'll have you write down your statement. Then I'll talk to Lieutenant Daly. If everything matches up, you'll likely end up with a non-judicial punishment." He paused. "Is there any reason why your stories won't match?"

"You think he raped me," she said, taking him wholly by surprise.

"I'm not sure," Tony said honestly. "He seemed pretty angry, and calling you a whore won't help his case. He's senior. He's the one with the duty to make sure your relationship stays professional. He's already caught so there's really no point in heaping blame on you. He has to know this isn't going to end well for him."

"I don't know why he acted like that," she said, her frustration showing. "But I made a stupid mistake, and now I just want this to be over. Can I just give you my statement and go?"

He nodded, handing her a legal pad. "Write down everything you told me. Be specific. Sign and date it at the bottom." He watched her mutely accept the paper and pen. "Do you want some privacy? I can go grab some coffee."

"It doesn't matter."

He stood. "I'll go. Can I get you anything?"

She laughed softly and he was reminded of how beautiful she was. "No thanks. Unless they stocked the vending machine with brains this morning."

He gave her a slight smile. "I'll be back in a bit. If you finish before then, just leave it on my desk."

* * *

Tony returned to find Squire gone and the statement thorough and complete. He knew this would likely just be a blip in the young woman's career, and she would probably receive a light punishment and a note in her service record. They called it a "page 7"—not a page 1—for a reason. The same couldn't be said for Daly, and Tony finished his coffee before picking up the phone and calling Daly's office.

He stared blankly at the wall and tried to prepare himself for the interview. It was probably going to be ugly, if Daly's earlier attitude was any indication. The lieutenant was a few years younger than Tony, and shorter, too, but he was solidly built, with dark hair and dark eyes that had fairly sparked with his anger. Tony doubted the guy would get physical with him, but he found himself wondering what would happen if someone beat the crap out of the only agent afloat. Would he get a replacement while he licked his wounds?

Tony jumped at the knock at his door, and it made him long for real rest and not caffeine-induced energy. "Enter!"

Daly walked slowly into the office and stood at attention.

_Well that's different_, Tony thought, wondering where the officer's anger had disappeared to. _He probably realized just how screwed he is—no pun intended. _

"Have a seat, Lieutenant," Tony said. "Let's talk."

Daly took a seat, giving Tony a wary look. He obviously was expecting rougher treatment, and that, in itself, set alarm bells off in Tony's head.

"How often do you see Petty Officer Squire?"

"Almost every day," Daly answered. "I pass the infirmary where she works on my way to my office."

"Ever see her anywhere else?"

Daly thought for a moment. "At the gym once. We talked for a while, and the next time I saw her, I invited her to come hang out with some friends. She agreed."

"That was last night?"

"Yes, sir."

After months aboard the ship, Tony had come to understand Gibbs' dislike for being called "sir." He smiled a friendly smile. "You don't have to 'sir' me, Lieutenant. We're just talking."

Daly visibly relaxed and offered an almost shy, "Everyone calls me Eddie."

Tony nodded. "So last night?"

Daly's eyes went back to the floor. "We hung out, some of my friends and me and Hannah, er, Petty Officer Squire. The guys went to watch a movie and she and I went to find some privacy so we could talk. We're both from towns not too far apart in Pennsylvania, as it happens."

"And then?" Tony prodded.

Daly flushed. "We had sex."

"And then?"

Daly looked at the ceiling and sighed. "We got caught. By Captain Fordham of all people. As soon as I walked out of that storage room and saw him, I knew it was over. I've worked so hard to be something, you know? And I throw it all away for a pretty girl."

Tony almost felt bad for the guy. It made what he was about to do that much harder. "So you didn't rape her?" he asked, his tone hard again.

Daly blinked in surprise. "No! No way, man. It was totally consensual."

Tony watched the wheels turning in the man's head. Daly shook his head and spat out bitterly, "I knew she would say I raped her. I just … _knew_ it. Girls like that, they never take responsibility for anything."

Tony watched him fume for a long moment. "That's why you were so angry earlier," Tony said. "Because you thought she was going to call it a rape."

Daly nodded, staring blankly at the wall behind Tony's head. After a moment, Tony's phrasing caught up to him. "Wait, she didn't accuse me?"

Tony tried to gauge Daly's reaction, but he couldn't tell if it was genuine relief because he was innocent or the smugness that came with knowing he was getting away with his crime.

"I didn't say that," Tony countered, deciding to go for broke. He stood suddenly and leaned into the officer's space, his hands on the arms of the chair. "She was shaking and crying in here, Daly. Now why would she do that?"

"I… she… she knows she's going to get into trouble?" Daly said, leaning back as far as he could in the chair, obviously rattled.

"Slap on the wrist for her," Tony said, his face still inches from Daly's. "But she knows you're probably done after this. Did you tell her that after your meeting with the captain? Did you tell her that lying about being raped would be easier for her? That she wouldn't have to go through that hell if she said it was consensual and you'd be gone anyway? Did you remind her of the reputation women who report rapes get, whether they deserve them or not? Did you convince her it wouldn't be worth it to tell the truth?"

Daly didn't speak.

"Did you rape her?" Tony asked, quietly, dangerously through teeth gritted in anger.

Daly shook his head slowly.

"Answer me," Tony barked.

"No," Daly said, shaking his head again and desperately trying to get away from the agent pinning him to the seat. "I didn't!"

Tony backed off, turning and tossing another legal pad at Daly. "Write it all down. Everything. I want specific details on times and places. All of it."

Daly started writing only to look up a minute later. "Please, just tell me. Did she accuse me?"

Tony fought a frustrated sigh. He was pretty sure whatever happened hadn't been entirely consensual and he started to wonder if alcohol had been involved. He made a mental note to talk to the buddies about that, not that he'd get anything out of them. And it was too late to test Squire. Tony hated what he was forced to admit. "No, she didn't. Her story matches yours." He paused, narrowing his eyes at Daly. "Perfectly."

The officer let out a breath in relief and began writing again.

Daly's relief was short-lived, however. "Is there anything I can do to fix this? I don't want to leave the Navy. I love it. It's my life."

Tony shook his head. "Once I write this up, there's not much anyone can do. The Navy doesn't take kindly to fraternization with junior personnel. Sign and date the bottom when you're done."

Daly finished in silence and handed over the pad and pen.

Once he was gone, Tony sat back in his chair, reading over the statements again. He would write everything up, follow up with the buddies—and get nothing, he knew—and turn it all in, effectively ending his responsibility. There wasn't anything else he could do if Squire refused to call it rape. Maybe it hadn't been.

The ambiguity of it all was killing him, but when he thought about it, neither reality was very appealing. Either he had let a rapist walk because he couldn't get the victim to talk, or he had ruined the career of a man who had done nothing that a thousand other guys hadn't done on a Saturday night. Of course, those guys weren't Navy officers aboard a warship, but still. And it wasn't like Tony could sweep it under the rug, either, not with the captain's involvement.

He'd done his job. No wonder no one liked the agent afloat. He wasn't even sure he liked himself at the moment.

Tony sighed deeply and thought about the bottle in his bottom drawer. Even the thought of wanting it so badly made him even more disgusted with himself. He turned back to the pile of files on his desk, his eyes landing on the one containing his notes on the gay couple he'd caught in a compromising position in a laundry room during one of his late-night insomnia strolls.

More lives he was about to ruin.

Jenny and Jeanne popped into his head at about the same time, making him feel physically ill. The thought about the bottle again and then shook his head fiercely.

He made a decision.

With thoughts of ruined lives and a possible rapist going free weighing heavily on his mind, he knew he couldn't write up the men he'd caught for being in love with the wrong gender. They were of equal rank so they hadn't even violated the Navy's fraternization policy in that respect.

Tony picked up his phone and called the sailors in question to his office. When they arrived, Tony was struck again by how opposite they seemed. Doug Lowe was physically small, with dark hair and a shy smile. He was quiet, unfailingly polite and often seemed a touch nervous around Tony. Robert "Big Bubba" North was, true to his nickname, big and blond and generally loud. He knew Benny Lyman because they were from the same town in Louisiana, and Benny had been the one to introduce Tony to the big, jovial man.

Tony told the men to sit in the two chairs in the office while he leaned against his desk. Doug looked scared half to death; Robert just looked resigned to his fate.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," Tony started, his hands in his pockets. "And I know that you two are violating Navy policy with your relationship."

Doug flinched; Robert just held Tony's eyes.

"But I can't make myself ruin both of your careers over it," Tony said, watching Robert blink in shock. "I'm not saying it can continue. Not on this ship, and not on my watch. If anyone finds out, we're all going to be in deep shit. I am going to write you both up, but it's going to be for a stakes poker game I discovered you two in. It'll be a slap on the wrist. But I need you both to understand the gravity of the situation. This isn't something that can happen again. Am I making myself clear?"

Doug looked like he'd trip over his tongue if he tried to speak. Robert just gave Tony a long look. Robert said, "Agent DiNozzo, you're going to file a false report? For us? I can't believe you'd do something like that."

"Yeah, I'm the agent afloat," Tony explained. "But really I'm just a cop. Have been for a long time. I've seen some truly horrific things, and I just can't make this measure up with any of that. I'm very serious, though, in that you have to put your relationship on hold until you reach dry land."

Robert nodded. "Of course. I can't tell you how grateful I am for what you're doing." He paused. "You're a good man, Tony."

* * *

Tony lay awake that night, mulling the events of the day and Robert's words.

_Am I a good man?_

He fell into a fitful sleep thinking of the many reasons why Robert North was sadly mistaken.

_The final gunshots echoed through the desert but there was no one left to hear them. Bodies lay sleeping in endless rest in ever-widening pools of blood. The smell of gunpowder hung heavily in air made foggy with its thickness. Light forced its way in through the grimy windows, only to reach unseeing eyes. The empty shells littering the floor felt no warmth from the sun on their cooling faces. The intense action had given way to lazy ceaseless slumber in a matter of seconds. _

_He walked through the doors of the diner and his breath caught in his throat at the carnage inside. So much death, so much wasted life. And for what? Why?_

_He didn't have any answers to those questions so he simply made his way from body to body, thinking about how different they all had been in life yet now they were united in bloody death, reduced to nothingness by a single collective adjective: dead. _

_Tears slipped down his cheeks as he moved through the room, surveying the corpses not with the detachment of a veteran cop but with the grief of a friend. _

_Because they were his friends. _

_He walked slowly, his tears falling beside the bodies of the fallen: Kate, with her perfect hole in her forehead, her lips forever forming that final insult; Paula, her once pretty features frozen in the mask of horror as she realized for all eternity that she was going to join her team after all; John, the DC detective still calling him a liar as he gasped his last breaths, his blood pumping with one last burst under Tony's sodden red hands; Jenny, her face reflected in a puddle of her own blood; and finally, his mother, her pale wrists bisecting twin lakes of bright red blood. _

_He stopped above his mother's body, her face hidden under a table. He knelt down, holding his breath against the warring hope and fear of seeing her pretty face one last time. He gasped softly as his knees hit the dusty floor. In place of her beautiful, ethereal features was his own twisted mask of death. _

_He stopped breathing entirely and suddenly he was looking up, from the floor, not at himself but at the sad faces of Ziva and Gibbs. They looked down at him in sorrow, and he realized they thought he was dead. He tried to speak to them, to tell them that he was still in there, but his cool lips formed no words. No air passed his slackened vocals cords, and he was terrified to find he could not speak. _

_He could not reach them._

Tony awoke shaking and gasping, his hand at his dream-paralyzed throat. "Shit," he whispered, mostly just to make sure he could still talk. He had the ridiculous but driving urge to get up and go find someone to talk to, if only to make sure he could still do it.

He wiped a hand across his face, feeling sudden burning shame when his fingers came away wet with tears shed during his restless slumber. He checked the clock. 4:47 a.m.

_Back to the gym I go._


	7. Chapter 7

**Present**

Abby walked into her lab, flipping on lights and machines but not her music. She knew she looked like death—and not in the good way—because she hadn't been able to sleep the previous night. She kept awakening from nightmares every time she managed to drift off. They were varied scenes, but all of the same theme: Tony walking toward her on the moonlit deck of the ship, hands outstretched toward her with blood pouring from deep, gruesome wounds in his wrists; finding Tony dead in the diner she recognized from crime scene photos as the one Jenny had died in; Tony's letters covered in bloody scrawl that simply repeated "help me" over and over; Tony dead on the rooftop instead of Kate; "awakening" to find Tony's ice-cold, bloody body beside her in her coffin.

Abby shook the remnants of the dreams from her head and caught sight of her reflection in the glass cooler doors. She wore simple black pants and a long-sleeved black shirt. Her hair was down and she wore no chains, skulls or collars. She had managed to swipe black lipstick across her mouth though, remembering the ghostly image of Kate telling her if there was ever a time for black lipstick…

The thought of Kate brought her instantly from her sadness and into a fierce, burning rage.

"Goddammit, Tony!" she yelled, knowing she was alone and no one could hear her. She didn't care if anyone could, anyway. "How could you do this? How could you be so damned selfish? What about Kate? Kate didn't deserve to die, but she didn't have a choice. YOU DID! You son of a bitch, how could you?"

Abby swept an arm across the shiny silver table, sending its contents crashing to the floor. Her rage not spent, she yelled, "You could have said something. You could have come to me. All those letters and not once, not one goddamn time did you tell me how much you were hurting. I'm your best friend, for fuck's sake. How could you not tell me?"

Abby felt her knees buckle as the last of her rage drained away. She sank to floor, only to realize she was surrounded by the very letters she had just mentioned. Gibbs had stopped by before leaving the previous night to collect them, but Abby made him take copies. She needed to be able to feel the original paper in her hands, to touch it as he had touched it. To run her fingers over the indentations of the ink put there by his hands. To smell the droplets of coffee on one of the last ones she'd received.

She found that letter in the pile and felt the strength returning to her convictions. Something was very wrong. Tony couldn't have. This was not a last letter of a friend planning to kill himself.

_Abbs,_

_Someone told me I'm a good person today. I'm not so sure I believe it. And I can't even tell you why he said that to me. And I can't tell you why I can't tell you, if that makes any sense. I'd kill to be with you right now. To be able to see you and talk to you and let you help me figure this all out. But enough about me._

_There's a sailor who wears her hair like yours sometimes, and I always have the sudden, overwhelming urge to pull on one of her pigtails. I think she'd stab me. I'm mentally tugging yours now. Can you feel that? _

_How is everyone? Has Gibbs killed and/or fired any of the new team members yet? Or made them cry? McGoo and I have a bet on who will crack first, but I need a third party to verify. I went with Lee, the natural choice, but he says it will be Keating. So much for geeks sticking together. Have you heard anything from Ziva? I haven't heard of any international incidents involving paperclips so I figure she's okay. It's hard to not know, though. _

_I'd ask how Ducky is but he sent me cookies the other day. If my father ever changes his mind about the will, I swear I'm going to buy the good doctor his own private island. Ducky Cove, we'll call it. _

_And how are you? Major Mass Spec doing all right? The coffin still … a coffin? I'm rambling, sorry. I'm kind of tired. Write back soon, would you?_

_Tony_

Abby wiped tears from her face and put up her pigtails. She looked up at the clock and realized the team would be getting to the ship soon.

She stood slowly, looking around the lab and thinking that she'd never felt so alone in all her life. She heaved a sigh and began picking up the mess she'd made. She put the letters into an envelope and got to work on other cases, but not before giving a pigtail a solid tug.

"You're gonna be okay, DiNozzo," she whispered. "You'd better."

* * *

Gibbs sent Ziva and McGee to stow their bags and get settled while he went straight to the infirmary. He knew they were anxious to see their friend, and Gibbs felt like a bastard for delaying them, but in all honesty, he wanted to be alone when he first laid eyes on his injured agent.

It was a good thing he did.

Gibbs had been trying to prepare himself for seeing Tony, knowing there would be bandages on his wrists. And there were. The heavy white gauze wound around both wrists, covering the skin from his hands almost to his elbows.

But Gibbs hadn't counted on the paleness of his agent's face, the absolute bloodlessness of that familiar countenance. He hadn't counted on the silence, the stillness, that was so at odds with the vibrant man he knew and cared for deeply. He hadn't counted on the smudges beneath his eyes, dark as bruises, that told of countless sleepless nights.

And he sure as hell hadn't prepared himself for the restraints binding him to the rails of the bed.

Gibbs turned to the doctor who'd followed him into the cubicle and, with a ferocity born of concern and fear and rage, roared, "What the _hell_ are those doing on him?"

The doctor didn't flinch. "Those are for his own safety," he said simply. "And they stay on until I know he's not a danger to himself."

"He's unconscious, for God's sake," Gibbs yelled, ready to show the young doctor the meaning of "danger."

"Look, Agent Gibbs," the doctor said, trying to be patient. "I understand he's your friend and it's difficult seeing him like this. I get that. And I understand that for your investigation, you're operating on the assumption that he didn't do this to himself. But medically, I'm treating him as an attempted suicide and until I know for certain that he's not in danger of hurting himself further, the restraints stay on. I'm sorry."

Gibbs thought about arguing but decided to save his fight for larger battles since he had only three days. He simply nodded and was silently grateful that the doctor left him alone with Tony, pulling the curtain closed as he left.

Gibbs moved beside the bed and thought about taking Tony's hand into his. He found himself afraid to do it, though, and cursed his weakness. Instead, he put a gentle hand on Tony's pale cheek, really looking at his friend for the first time.

"What the hell?" he whispered, leaning in closer. He turned Tony's face gently and then pulled the blankets down, looking over his agent's body.

There were bruises on Tony's jaw, and Gibbs found more on his ribs and belly. He replaced the blanket and gingerly took Tony's right hand into his, pulling the gauze back slowly. He wasn't surprised to find scrapes and bruising on his knuckles.

Tony had been in one hell of a fight, Gibbs realized.

_You were right, Abbs. Someone hurt him. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Earlier**

Tony made his way to the gym, wondering if he'd be alone this time. It was just about 5 a.m. and much of the crew was usually up by this time. He found himself hoping the "treeless park" would be deserted, despite his earlier longing for conversation. He had used the bottle as a sleep aid the night before, and the last thing he needed was some overly observant sailor noticing he was slightly hungover.

He stepped onto a treadmill and put his earbuds in, selecting some god-awful song Abby had sent with him simply because he needed something familiar to chase the demons out of his head. He starting running, recognizing the song as one of the ones Gibbs made Abby turn off completely—instead of simply turning it down. He found himself wondering what the pair were doing at that moment, if they were home sleeping or if they had a case that had kept them in the office all night. He felt a sharp pain that had nothing to do with his physical exertions and tried to clear his mind.

It was hard with the latest musical debauchery from RagingZombieLovers pounding through his skull.

He suddenly longed for his piano and gave up on the undead musicians and turned to something classical. The soft melody wrought from some gifted pianist's fingers instantly calmed him, and he wondered if maybe this would be one of the good days.

A sudden crash that overrode the music in his ears put a swift, brutal end to that thought.

"What the …?"

Tony turned in time to see the two sailors who had been lifting weights when he arrived locked in a fierce struggle. The crash had come from the pair knocking into a tower of barbells and sending them clattering to the floor. The smaller guy was swinging wildly at the big man, getting in several punches before his opponent floored him with a swift clip to the face.

Tony jumped off the treadmill, summoned his best Gibbs impression and barked an authoritative, "Knock it the hell off!"

The sailors ignored him. One, the bigger guy, because he was obviously in a rage so blinding that Tony wondered if he was on something; and the other, the smaller guy, because he was busy getting the crap pummeled out of him by Ragey McMadman.

Tony's thoughts turned serious as he realized the smaller guy was going to be seriously hurt if he didn't step in quickly. He crossed the gym in three steps and grabbed the big guy by the shoulder. He wasn't expecting the meaty fist that caught him hard in the jaw, and it knocked him back a few feet. He staggered, cursing as the enraged man turned his attention back his previous opponent, who was cowering in abject terror.

"Hey," Tony yelled, feeling the ache through his entire jaw, "pick on someone your own size."

Ragey turned to Tony and advanced on him with the speed of a much smaller man.

_Shit, _Tony thought, wishing like hell he had some backup, _NOW you listen to me. _

Tony ducked the first punch but couldn't dodge the next one that caught him in the stomach, doubling him over as searing pain exploded through his midsection. He crouched, avoiding the next punch, and landed one of his own to the big man's cheekbone. Tony felt the force of it all the way to his shoulder. He feinted left and punched again, catching the man's jaw this time. Tony thought about the cuffs he kept on his body at all times with relief. At least he wouldn't have to zip-tie this guy as he had the last one, before he'd learned his lesson. This guy would probably snap a zip-tie like a stray thread from an unruly hem.

Tony's relief faded as he realized he first had to get the guy under control. The force of the punches combined with the wildness in his eyes told him he was right about the guy being on something. And the little guy collapsed in the corner wasn't going to be helping him anytime soon.

He was on his own. _As usual. _

Tony ducked another punch and wished Benny were around. _Talk about someone your own size… _

Ragey caught Tony off-guard and slammed a fist into his ribs, making Tony yelp in pain. He tried to determine if he could get the little guy out and lock Ragey in the gym until he calmed down. Another vicious blow to his ribs dropped Tony to his knees and that plan went out the window. There was a yell from somewhere outside the gym, and Tony took advantage of Ragey's slight distraction, popping to his feet and delivering an uppercut so forceful he was afraid he'd broken his own hand on the guy's jaw. Tony continued the assault, punching with all he had with his undamaged left hand and backing the guy into a corner just as three sailors rushed the room.

The four of them quickly overpowered the big man, and Tony cuffed him roughly before dropping weakly to his knees and spitting out a mouthful of blood. He wrapped his arms around his body, not sure if he was cradling his aching ribs or his throbbing right hand. Two of the sailors kept Ragey subdued while the third knelt beside Tony.

"Agent DiNozzo?" the kid, who was no more than 19, asked with a mixture of awe and fear in his young voice. "Are you all right?"

Tony was trying to find a way to breathe that didn't send daggers of pain stabbing through his ribs. He nodded. "Yeah, I'm good," he panted. "Just give me a minute."

The medics arrived then, one team going to where the little guy still lay half-dazed by the fierce blows. The other team nudged the young sailor out of the way and tried to tend to Tony's injuries, but Tony shrugged them off.

"Later. I've got work to do," he said, knowing the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth wasn't helping his case any. He made a quick swipe at it, smearing a bloody red streak onto the sleeve of his white long-sleeved shirt.

The medics looked at each other and must have decided to leave him alone. Tony smiled; sometimes people's fear of the agent afloat was a good thing, if it got him what he wanted. He went back over to where Ragey was sitting with his head hung low, as if the weight of what he'd done was finally settling in.

"Get up, sailor. What's your name?" Tony asked, grateful the two sailors stayed flanking the big man. The parts of his body that weren't throbbing outright were beginning to ache from the sheer physicality of the fight.

"Petty Officer Henry Stowell, sir," he man said quietly, his eyes downcast.

"Would you like us to escort you to the brig, sir?" the sailor to the left of Stowell asked.

Tony thought for a moment, knowing he should take him himself, so as not to show weakness. But his hand was on fire and his ribs ached with every breath he took, and he knew he was in no condition for round two, if Stowell decided to fight him.

"I'd appreciate that," he answered. He turned to the medics beside the little guy. "I'll swing by the infirmary when I'm done to get his statement."

The medics nodded, eyeing him as if that shouldn't be his _only_ reason to stop by. "Yes, sir."

Tony motioned for the pair to lead Stowell out, following them so he could leave his arms banded around his aching body without them seeing. They made their way to the brig without incident, and Tony thanked the sailors and sent them on their way. He filled out the requisite paperwork, feeling his skin stretching over swollen knuckles as he wrote. His handwriting was worse than usual and he hoped like hell that he hadn't broken his hand. To top it all off, the guard on duty kept looking nervously at Tony like he expected him to keel over at any moment.

Tony finished up with the guard and headed back toward the infirmary. He made a quick pit stop at the head, ducking in to clean the blood off his face.

And ran smack into Benny.

"Holy Mary, mother of God," Benny whispered when he saw the bruise already darkening Tony's jaw. He quickly crossed himself and raised his eyes to the ceiling, whispering a garbled apology about blasphemy.

Tony almost laughed at his new friend's ritual. "Grandma Brown would beat the crap out of you for that, Benny."

Benny's eyes slid appraisingly over Tony, taking in the bruises, the blood and the slightly hunched-over posture that gave away the pain in his ribs. "Looks like you did more than blaspheme. What the hell happened?"

"Broke up a fight," Tony answered simply, going to the sink to wash his face. He winced as he leaned over the basin and had to a put a hand on the cool surface to steady himself. He felt Benny's eyes on him. "I'm fine."

Benny snorted loudly, then leaned on the door, effectively making sure Tony had some privacy while he washed the blood from his mouth. "Think you need to have someone redefine that term for ya, buddy."

Tony took a mouthful of water, then spit it back out into the sink. Neither man missed that it was pink as it swirled down the drain. Tony ran his tongue over his teeth, making sure none of them were loose. Satisfied he wouldn't need any dental work after his round with bigfoot, he gingerly checked the inside of his lip in the mirror, wincing at the still-bleeding wound where his teeth had cut the soft tissue there.

"Probably gonna need some stitches in that," Benny observed, his eyes on Tony's in the mirror.

"Nah," Tony said, chancing a glance at his rapidly swelling right hand. _Shit, that hurts. _"Just need it to stop bleeding long enough so I can go get a statement from Mortal Kombat-wannabe number two."

Benny's eyes narrowed, then widened as Tony turned around and he got a good look at the agent's badly injured hand. "Can it, DiNozzo," Benny said, moving to Tony's side and taking his elbow firmly in his grip. "You're getting that looked at. Your face _and _that mess of a hand."

Tony rolled his eyes but allowed Benny to lead him out into the corridor. "You're reminding me of someone from home right now, you know that?"

Benny grinned. "Someone a lot smarter than you, I'm sure."

Tony smiled despite his pain and embarrassment. He really wished Benny would let go of him, but at the same time, he was silently grateful for his friend's support. They made their way to the infirmary, and Tony was slightly amused that Benny hung around, ostensibly making conversation with one of the pretty nurses, while he took the man's statement. The work was the easy part: The two sailors had gotten into an argument and started to fight. That Tony was present during the actual fight made things a lot easier. It wouldn't matter who had started it; both men would be getting written up, and Stowell would be facing serious charges for assaulting a federal officer, not to mention the charges pending his drug test.

After Tony finished the statement, making Petty Officer Damon Willis write it all down so he wouldn't have to use his throbbing hand, he started to head toward the door, only to have Benny step into his path with a soft smile.

"Sorry, Tony," he said. "I keep my promises."

Tony sighed, then winced at the pain it sent crashing through his ribs. "I hate you."

"Blasphemy!" Benny said with a lopsided grin.

* * *

Tony lay awake in his office that night, thinking about the kindness Benny had showed him, staying with him through the poking, prodding, x-rays and stitches. He didn't think he deserved it, but Benny's calm presence had somehow made it all easier, having someone to complain to and laugh with, even though it hurt.

He knew he was lucky, not only to have found a friend like Benny, but also that he hadn't broken anything. His ribs and hand were badly bruised, he had a few stitches in his mouth, and he was going to be sore for the next week or so, but he was going to be fine. He'd even gotten a visit from the captain and had easily assured him that he didn't need a replacement. _Well that answers _that_ question_, Tony thought, thinking it odd that he'd just been wondering what would happen if someone beat the crap out of the only agent afloat.

Tony's eyes drifted closed, thanks to the two Vicodin he'd popped earlier.

He did not dream that night.


	9. Chapter 9

**Present**

Gibbs called the team to the doctor's small office. His leg was vibrating as he sat waiting for them, partly from caffeine, but mostly from sheer impatience. _What the hell had this damned dumb doctor been thinking? How could he not notice the bruises?_

Ziva and McGee arrived moments before the doctor, both of them looking thoroughly confused.

"You have more questions for me, Agent Gibbs?" the doctor asked impatiently.

Gibbs glared. "I want to know why my agent—who you think tried to kill himself—is covered in bruises. And why you saw fit to omit that detail from your conversation with Ms. Sciuto."

The doctor sighed. "It's been busy around here," he explained, then quickly went on when he saw Gibbs' glare intensify tenfold. "Agent DiNozzo broke up a fight last week between two sailors, one of whom was hopped up on steroids and did quite a number on him."

Gibbs felt his anger slowly draining—along with the hope that he'd stupidly allowed to build upon finding the bruising. It didn't prove or disprove anything.

"I didn't mention it to Ms. Sciuto because it doesn't relate to his current condition," the doctor continued. "He took a couple of stitches in his lip but mostly was just bruised. Those injuries didn't affect my treatment of the wounds to his wrists."

Gibbs nodded slowly, feeling deflated and slightly embarrassed that he'd called his team in for this. He found both of them watching him closely and said, "Go see him. Then we've got work to do."

He waited until they had left to grudgingly thank the doctor for his time. The director's three-day deadline weighed heavily on his mind as he went to join his team and tried to figure out what to do next. He entered Tony's cubicle and winced at the sick look on McGee's face as he stood beside the bed. His hand shook slightly where it rested lightly on Tony's shoulder and he was saying something so softly Gibbs couldn't make it out.

Ziva stood as far away from Tony as possible, her back brushing the curtain. Her face was completely blank and Gibbs motioned for her to join him outside. McGee went to follow but Gibbs shook his head slightly, noting that McGee looked slightly relieved to have some time alone with his friend.

They found a relatively private area and Gibbs asked, "What's on your mind, Ziver?"

She frowned, her dark eyes searching his icy blue ones. She shook her head. "Besides the obvious?"

Gibbs matched her frown. He thought for a minute before saying, "You're the only one who hasn't come to me and asked if it's possible that he didn't do this to himself."

"Do you think he did?" she asked, her eyes giving away nothing.

"Don't change the subject."

"I guess… I guess I just do not know him as well as everyone else," she said, looking thoroughly frustrated. "In Mossad, reading people can be a matter of life and death. I thought I knew him. I thought I had him all figured out. Finding out just how wrong I was about him is upsetting, to say the least. And on top of that, the not knowing if he is going to… if he is going to make it is driving me crazy."

Gibbs put a hand on her arm and repeated his earlier words to Abby. "He's DiNozzo. He'll make it."

Ziva gave him a soft smile and he gave her credit for keeping up her brave face. It shouldn't have surprised him. She was always strong.

"I think we should get over to business and start interviewing everyone we can."

"Down, Ziva," he corrected gently. " 'Down' to business. And you're right. We should."

Ziva nodded, watching Gibbs turn to go collect McGee. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, thinking how much she missed having Tony correcting her mistakes and unable to even think that she might never hear his voice again.

* * *

The team gathered in Tony's office, and the first thing Gibbs noticed was the only personal effect in the room: a picture of the team, taken at a Christmas party years earlier. Kate smiled brightly out from the photo and Gibbs' gut twisted at the thought of losing another member of his team, his makeshift family. He smiled though, when he noticed a small photo of Ziva taped to the edge of the frame.

The second thing he noticed was the cot in the corner. His smile faded as he realized that Tony had taken to sleeping in his office. That could mean only bad things. Gibbs wondered if he didn't trust his bunkmates or if it was because of nightmares.

Gibbs figured it was the latter. He remembered waking up one night in a hotel room with Tony shortly after he'd hired him. They were in a tiny town on a case and had gotten the last available room on a holiday weekend. Tony had woken Gibbs with his mumbling and tossing and turning, and Gibbs was about to yell at him when Tony awoke with a sharp cry and bolted upright. Gibbs feigned sleep as the younger agent spent the next five minutes throwing up in the bathroom. Gibbs mentioned it casually the next morning, and Tony had given him a line about bad takeout. The lead agent found himself wishing he'd pressed the issue, but he knew it wouldn't have mattered. Tony was adept at playing the smoke and mirrors game and never would have admitted to suffering from nightmares, even though a lot of cops did.

Gibbs pulled himself out of the past and realized his team was looking at him expectantly. "Search it," he said, feeling bad when McGee jumped at his sharp tone. "I know it's hard because it's Tony, but it's still a case and we still have a job to do."

They searched, making short work of the small office and finding nothing amiss—until Ziva pulled open the bottom drawer of the desk. "Uh, Gibbs?"

He turned, not liking the tremor in her voice, and saw her holding a half-empty bottle.

_Shit, DiNozzo,_ he thought, his heart sinking. _What did you do to yourself? _

He knew Tony was unhappy on the ship, that he still blamed himself for Jenny's death, but he didn't think DiNozzo would turn to the bottle to drown his sorrows, not knowing what he did about Tony's alcoholic father.

"Put it back," Gibbs said, drawing shocked looks from his team. "We'll keep it in mind, but it's not going into any official report. Either of you have a problem with that?"

Ziva and McGee shook their heads mutely, and Ziva put the bottle back and relocked the drawer, pocketing the small key.

"Boss," McGee said a moment later. "These are all letters from Abby. Well, a couple are from me, too."

Gibbs took the stack from McGee and set them aside. He'd read them later, along with the copies of Tony's letters that he'd gotten from Abby. A thought occurred to him and he turned back to McGee. "You want to keep yours? I don't really need to see them."

McGee thought about the bet he'd made with Tony about which new team member would crack first and blushed to the roots of his hair. "Uh, yeah. Maybe that would be good."

Gibbs handed the stack back with a slight smile and wondered how much they'd wagered on his dealings with the new team. McGee pulled a few letters out and gave him the rest back, saying, "He only wrote me a couple of times. He didn't mention his cases, and they were all upbeat, mostly joking about life on the ship."

"Normal Tony," Ziva said, realizing they'd finished searching the small office.

"Yeah," McGee said bitterly, "Normal Tony hiding."

"You could not have known, Tim," Ziva said softly.

Gibbs nodded his agreement and watched McGee struggle to get his emotions under control. Seeing the way he clutched the thin pile of letters, Gibbs wondered if Vance hadn't been right. Maybe they shouldn't be the ones investigating. He pushed the thought aside, though, knowing it was wrong. Of course it should be them. They owed Tony that much.

Gibbs looked around the office, thinking they were missing something. He looked down at the floor and saw a slight discoloration there. "Look," he said, pointing down. "There was a rug here. We need to find out who cleaned up in here and which medics responded and get their prints before we dust the place. Since Tony's the only agent on board, I doubt anyone treated this as a crime scene. We need to find out what happened to the knife he used."

McGee flinched at that last statement, biting his lip as Ziva picked up the phone to call the infirmary and find out about the medics.

Gibbs watched McGee with concern as he fidgeted with the letters while Ziva made her call. Her face went completely white about halfway through and Gibbs cursed himself for putting his team through this. He couldn't make himself turn his anger toward DiNozzo, though, not after he'd seen him lying there so pale and bruised.

Ziva took a deep breath before saying, "Infirmary gave me the names of the medics. They said he was found by a cook named Benny Lyman."

Gibbs nodded. "Abby mentioned him. Said he was the one person Tony actually talked to on the ship."

He waited while Ziva took a steadying breath and wondered what had made the Mossad officer look so ill.

"Gibbs," she said, her eyes burning into his. "They said they have the knife he used. It… Well, they said… Gibbs, they said there is an inscription on the handle. It is the knife you gave him."

Gibbs felt the words like a physical blow. His knees actually felt weak and he dropped heavily into Tony's chair. He stared blankly at the desktop for a long moment, unable to process the information. _Is this my fault? What does it mean? Was he trying to tell me something? I _told _him Jenny wasn't his fault. But maybe I waited too long to tell him that. I should have said it first thing, when I first saw the pain and guilt in his eyes in the desert that day. I waited too long…_

"Boss?" McGee's gentle voice snapped him out of his fog. "Are you okay?"

"No," Gibbs said, watching McGee and Ziva exchange worried looks at his uncharacteristic loss of control. "I mean, yes, but no, he wouldn't do this. He wouldn't use that knife. There's no way."

Ziva and McGee exchanged a hopeful look, wondering if Gibbs was thinking what they were thinking.

"There's no way he'd use that knife," Gibbs said, "and there's no way an attacker would know what it means to him. Someone did this to him. And we're damned sure going to find out who."


	10. Chapter 10

**Earlier**

Tony awoke slowly from his drug-induced sleep and looked at the clock. 7:42 a.m.

_That's the most sleep I've gotten since I landed on this damned floating hell. I should get the crap kicked out of me more often. _

He started to get up and gasped at the sharp pain that shot through his ribs.

_Or not._

He gingerly hauled himself upright, sitting on the side of the cot until the dizziness cleared from his head. He took that time to inspect his damaged right hand, wincing as he tried to straighten his fingers and found he couldn't. The skin over his knuckles was badly swollen and multicolored with ugly bruising, a lump the size of a ping-pong ball stretching the skin near the joint at the base of his little finger. He'd broken that bone before—a boxer's fracture, it was called—and he was glad it was just bruised this time. It still hurt like hell, though.

He tried moving it again and felt cold nausea roil through his stomach at the pain the tiny movement produced. _Should have let them splint it yesterday, _he thought, knowing there was no way in hell he'd go crawling back there today and ask for one.

He forced himself to his feet and gathered his things to go take a shower, the thought of steaming hot water blocking out the pain of his stiff movements. He decided to skip his ritual of walking the ship once he realized the simple act of getting cleaned up and dressed had thoroughly tired him out.

It was too bad really, because he liked making his presence known on the ship, letting the sailors know that he was watching and could pop up at any time. The incidences of stakes card games had lowered greatly once those aboard figured out about his random roaming. He made it a point to make rounds once a day, not counting the nights he went strolling because he couldn't sleep.

He knew some of the crew had taken to calling him "Agent DiRacula" because of his nocturnal wanderings. _Abby would be so proud. _

Tony decided that laying low would be a good plan for the day as he returned to his office. He caught up on some paperwork—slow going because of his hand—before finally giving in to the pain and popping another Vicodin. Not wanting to accidently write up Captain Cookie Monster for violating the (chocolate-chip) substance abuse policy, he decided to leave the paperwork alone and let the painkillers do their loopiness-inducing job. He put the files aside and went to lie down, intending to simply rest his eyes for a moment.

Oops.

_He was alone. So very alone that he wanted to die. Or scream or cry or break something. _

_Anything to get the man in the room with him to pay attention, to acknowledge his grief—or at the very least, his existence. _

_He still wore his black suit from the funeral, but the huge house had emptied of mourners hours ago. His father had thrown a fit over a slightly overdone entrée and thrown the entire staff out of the house. They were the only ones there. _

_The only ones breathing, anyway. _

_Tony saw the ghost of his beautiful mother standing forlornly in the corner of his father's elegantly decorated study. Blood still dripped from the deep wounds in her wrists—just as it had when he'd found her days earlier—and had begun to pool bright red on the light carpet. The pools turned to rivers and young Tony pulled his feet up into the big overstuffed chair that had swallowed him whole the second his father pushed him there with a barked order to "Sit and shut up."_

_Tony watched the red rivers flow under the chair and he turned slightly to see if they had made their meandering way out the door yet. _

"_I thought I said sit," his father said, his lips twisted into a cruel sneer. "Sit still or I'll make you still."_

_Tony snapped back around and folded his hands in his lap, fighting the urge to fidget. One of his aunts had sneaked him some cookies earlier and his small body, unaccustomed to sweet treats, still was riding a massive sugar high. He tempered his voice so he wouldn't shout. "Yes, father."_

_He was shaking with the effort it took to sit still, to not sob his little heart out and ask the questions he knew would not be appreciated. He looked over to his mother's ghost and saw her slowly shaking her head, silently telling him to be quiet. His eyes dropped to the floor and he noticed the blood river had returned, coiling tightly around his chair and flowing toward his father's huge cherry wood desk. He bit his lip hard enough to taste blood of his own as he fought not to warn his father about the encroaching river. _

_Father would not appreciate his nice shoes getting ruined. _

"_Father, watch out!" he cried, unable to take it anymore. _

_His father looked up at him, his red-rimmed eyes burning with rage not meant for this world. Tony's eyes slid to his spectral mother and back again, and he wondered if his father, too, had died that day. _

"_Stop with your silly games, boy. It's high time you grow up."_

"_But the rivers, your shoes…" he sputtered, his panic growing by the minute, tightening his chest like an asthmatic. _

"_What in God's name are you talking about, boy?" his father roared, rising from behind the desk, his large frame shrinking the massive piece of furniture to nothingness. Tony saw his ghost mother move across the room as if floating on the red rivers born of her own veins. She stopped between her child and her rapidly advancing, enraged husband. _

_His father moved through her as if she were simple fog. It was fitting, he thought wildly, she had never been able to stop him in life, so why should it be any different now that she was dead?_

_She disappeared in his wake and he felt her departure like a physical blow. He cried out in pain even before his father's closed fist hit his face. The blows rained down on his little body, but the only pain he felt was the aching lodged deep in his chest at the loss of his mother. _

_He heard piano music over his father's grunts and his own soft sobbing. The music swelled until it was deafening. It overtook his senses one by one until he could no longer taste the blood in his mouth, or see, or smell his father's expensive cologne. _

_All he could feel was her music. _

Tony shot straight out of bed like he'd been shocked. He stood in the middle of his office, looking around wildly, trying to pull himself out of the terrifying dream/past and into the present where he was safe—at least relatively. His injuries from the fight made themselves known all at once, screaming their pained protests at his jerky movements and heaving breaths.

He pulled open his bottom drawer with shaking hands and drank deeply of the alcohol, not caring one bit about the implications of diving headlong into the bottle to quell his terror. The taste of the expensive liquor instantly called up the remembered smell of his father's drink from his dream and he shoved the bottle back into the drawer, gagging and clamping a hand over his mouth to keep from throwing up.

"Dammit, Tony! Open up!"

Tony blinked at the sudden voice, only to realize someone had been pounding on his door since he'd come awake minutes before. In fact, the pounding was what had pulled him up from the depths of his hellish nightmare.

_Benny. Shit. _

"Coming," Tony called, looking down to make sure he had clothes on and then almost laughing at the ridiculousness of that. He'd stopped sleeping naked his first night on the ship.

He opened the door and saw Benny flinch at his appearance. _That can't be good._

"Where's the fire?" Tony asked, giving Benny his best fake smile. For once he was glad he wasn't home and he hadn't known Benny as long as he'd known his team. It was so much easier to fake it with people who didn't know him well.

Benny didn't return the smile, and his eyes were deep wells of concern. Tony swallowed hard, realizing his throat was sore. He put two and two together and almost threw up.

_Shit. Oh shit. _

Benny put a hand on Tony's trembling arm, his dark skin a startling contrast against Tony's pallor. "I heard you screaming halfway down the hall," he said softly, his eyes still holding that god-awful concern. "Are you all right?"

Tony poked his head out the door and glanced both ways down the hall, wondering what time it was.

"It's almost 2100," Benny said, as if in answer to Tony's thoughts. "Everyone on this corridor is gone for the night."

The cook's eyes widened a tiny bit as he finished taking in Tony's disheveled appearance. "Which is why you sleep here," he said softly, brushing past a motionless Tony and into the office. He settled his large frame into a chair. "You wanna talk about it?"

Tony struggled to find his voice, wondering if Benny had smelled the alcohol on him and if he would even say anything if he had. "I … uh, no, not really."

Benny watched him silently long enough to make him squirm. He finished shutting the door and settled with a grimace of pain into his chair, noticing for the first time that Benny held a small container in his big hands.

"You didn't stop by to see me at dinner," Benny said, holding out the container. "So I brought you some soup."

Tony took the man's kindness like a kick to the gut. He wordlessly took the container, his foggy brain fighting the effects of the Vicodin and alcohol.

Benny sensed his discomfort and said cheerily, "It's a new recipe I'm trying out, and I figured who better to test it on than a captive audience?"

Tony tried to smile. It wasn't quite working so he took the spoon off the lid and opened the container. He watched Benny watch him try it. It wasn't the first new recipe Benny had tried out him, but it was the best by far. Benny grinned at the happy face Tony made.

"This is amazing," Tony said between spoonfuls. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until the heavenly soup touched his tongue.

Benny cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "I thought about adding some chili powder to give it some kick, but then I remembered the stitches in your mouth and figured you could do without it burning like hell."

"I think it's perfect just the way it is."

Benny studied the photo of the team on Tony's desk while his friend finished the soup. Tony set aside the container with a smile and a sincere, "Thanks, Benny. You're the best."

"I'm glad you liked it. I'll be sure to put it on the menu at my restaurant some day," Benny said with a grin. The smile faded as he took in Tony's pale face. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he answered automatically.

Benny sighed. "And here I thought we were friends."

Tony blinked at that. "Of course we are, Benny. Why would you say that?"

"Because where I come from, friends don't lie to each other," he said, the edge in his voice reminding Tony of just how big and tough the young cook looked. His tone softened though, and he said, "You got the shit beat out of you yesterday, Tony. By a guy my size. I doubt you're 'fine.' "

Tony sighed, then winced at the pain in his ribs. Benny raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm just sore. I'll be perfectly fine in a couple days."

Benny regarded him with a mixture of concern and exasperation. He held out his hand for the container and Tony passed it back to him, yelping in surprise when Benny's big hand closed around his right wrist. The cook appraised the grotesquely swollen knuckles with what Tony knew to be an eye trained on the mean streets of New Orleans.

Or Nawlins, as Benny would say, his soft drawl coloring his every word. He and Tony often made fun of each other and sometimes Tony would pull out his harsh Long Island accent just to mess with him.

Benny let out a frustrated sigh, muttered something that might have been "damn cops" and stood. "I'll be right back," he said, leaving without another word.

Tony's thoughts returned to his playful banter with Benny on the subject of accents.

"_Hell, Tony, it's not just different accents," Benny had said once during one of their late-night kitchen raids, "sometimes I think we speak different _languages."

"_I have no idea what you're talking about," Tony said, clipping his words crisply and accentuating the 'g' in 'talking.' _

"_And I have no idea what you're sayin' sometimes," Benny drawled in return, allowing his smooth voice to smother the words and leaving the 'g' completely off 'saying.'_

"_It's called a 'g' there, Benny," Tony said, laughing. "You need not fear them."_

_Benny threw a carrot at Tony's head. "Maybe I should just start talkin' street, yo. What you be thinkin' 'bout that, homes?"_

_Tony laughed and returned fire with the closest foodstuff at hand, which happened to be a handful of bouillon cubes. "Well shit, B-Money, I was a beat cop in Philly for a year. I bet I can do it better than you."_

_Benny easily ducked the chicken-flavored missiles with a laugh. "Prove it, T-Dawg."_

The door opened again, breaking Tony from his reverie. Benny held out a bag of ice and Tony rested it on his injured hand with a grimace. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Benny said, his expression conflicted as he obviously debated something in his head.

"You gonna spit it out or just stare at me all night?" Tony asked with a wry smile.

The corner of Benny's mouth quirked up and he decided to go for broke. "Tell me about the nightmare, Tony. You were screaming like the hounds of hell were after you. I'm worried."

Tony looked down at his hands, then back up again once he realized seeing the swollen mess made it throb harder. "Before I came here, I worked with a team in DC," Tony began, amazed at how much it still hurt to use the past tense in reference to his team—his family. "My partner got shot right in front of me."

Tony knew he was lying, in a way, but Benny hadn't asked specifically about _tonight's_ nightmare. He would never share the horrific details of his childhood with anyone, had never shared it—not even with Gibbs, not even at his drunkest. Except that wasn't true. Abby knew everything—and had known since one particularly drunken evening he barely remembered. But it didn't count if he didn't remember, right?

"That must have been awful, man," Benny said sympathetically. "I can't even begin to imagine going through that."

"Yeah, well, don't spend too much time trying," Tony said, realizing that the price of his subtle subterfuge would probably be dreams haunted by Kate. "Tasting your friend's blood is something that sticks with you."

_Shit, _Tony thought, watching Benny's eyes go wide and remembering how young he was. _W__hy the hell did I say that?_

"I'm sorry, Benny," Tony said quickly. "A bit of an overshare, right?"

Benny shook his head slowly, regarding Tony as if with new, sharper vision. "It's okay. I asked." He paused, then plowed ahead. "Listen, Tony, I'm here if you want to talk about it, about anything, really. I saw some shit growing up in Nawlins. I can handle whatever you need to get out."

Tony gave him a genuine smile and then yawned. "Thanks, Benny. You're a good guy."

Benny stood, picking up the container and heading for the door. He stopped there and turned. "I'll let you get some sleep. Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, man."

"And keep that ice on your hand. That is one grotesque freakin' injury, my friend. Remind me never to piss you off... 'cause you must have one hell of a right hook."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **This chapter contains a fairly graphic description of an unpleasant scene. Please proceed with caution.

* * *

**Present**

Gibbs sent McGee to interview the man who had found Tony, Benny Lyman, while he dusted the office for prints and Ziva had gone to retrieve the knife from the infirmary. It was useless as evidence because the chain of custody had been broken, but they still would dust it and bag it. Ziva brought it back, along with print cards from the medics, just as Gibbs was finishing up.

She handed the bagged knife to Gibbs. He could barely look at it, its blade still stained a deep crimson with Tony's blood. The thought of Tony taking a knife—this knife—to his wrists made Gibbs feel sick. He ran his hand along the inscription through the bag and blinked back tears as he realized for the thousandth time just how fragile life was. He was so caught up in the questions of whether Tony had tried to kill himself that he kept forgetting that he could still die.

He set the knife aside while Ziva scanned and sent the prints to Abby, but his eyes kept straying to that inscription on the bloody handle.

_D—So you'll never have to worry about Rule No. 9—G _

* * *

McGee took in the bald head and dark skin and sheer size of the huge man and tried not to be intimidated. It was hard. The guy looked like he could break him in half one-handed.

Then Benny smiled. "I'm Benjamin Lyman, but you can call me Benny. Everyone does."

McGee smiled back. "I'm Tim, one of Tony's, uh, former partners."

Benny nodded sympathetically. "He's a good guy. A really good guy."

"So you know him pretty well?" McGee asked, feeling suddenly calmer knowing Tony hadn't been completely alone on the ship. The reverence in Benny's voice told him as much.

"I was starting to," Benny said. "I have chronic insomnia, something I seem to share with Tony, but he never talked about it. Made jokes about it, made it seem like being up at 0300 was the most normal thing in the world. I met him in the gym one night and he just seemed like an old friend, like I'd known him for years."

McGee felt tears burn the backs of his eyes at Benny's soft words, but he soldiered on. "Not many people tend to make friends with the agent afloat."

Benny smiled again and lifted a massive shoulder. "I've got nothing to hide." He paused, his smile widening. "Well, I do tend to sneak into the kitchen every now and then for a late-night snack. Against the rules, I know, but Tony never complained, especially when I whipped up something with chocolate in it."

McGee couldn't help grinning back at Benny. _Leave it to Tony to befriend a cook with a sweet tooth. _His smile faded though as he remembered the main reason for this interview. He swallowed hard and asked softly, "They said you're the one who found him?"

Benny grimaced and looked physically ill for a moment, obviously reliving what had to have been a brutal experience. "Yeah," he said softly. "I was up late, no surprise there, and I went to see if Tony was up too. We'd knock on each other's doors at all hours, and if the other was up, we'd hang out. If not, we'd just leave. We mostly played cards, went to the kitchen or the gym. I was surprised at how strong he is… for a little guy."

McGee grinned at the thought of Tony as a "little guy," but compared with Benny's giant stature, he figured it was accurate. Benny was smiling, too, and McGee couldn't help but think of how it was so like something Tony would do: taking a difficult situation and injecting a little humor into it.

"What did you talk about?" McGee asked, feeling more than a little intrusive. He was genuinely curious to know if Tony was as guarded around Benny as he was with everyone else.

"Well hell, Tim," Benny said, grinning. "What _didn't _we talk about? That guy could talk the Pope out of his hat, for Christ's sake. Ohh, whoops. That's blasphemy. Grandma Brown would kill me for that one. Anyway, we talked a lot about sports, food, women, a girl he knows who's from Louisiana, like me."

"Abby," McGee said, nodding.

"Yeah, that's her. He missed her like hell," Benny said. "That was pretty obvious. He didn't talk much about his friends back home, but when he did, he'd get all quiet, and I knew it was killing him. He never said anything, but his eyes sure did."

There was a moment of silence, and they were both thinking about the man lying unconscious in the infirmary—and how he'd likely gotten there.

"He mentioned you, too," Benny said softly, taking McGee completely by surprise.

"Really?" he asked, trying not to sound like a hopeful little kid. He more or less failed.

"Yeah, said you're good with computers."

McGee smiled wryly. "Somehow I doubt that's how he phrased it."

Benny laughed a deep belly laugh at that. "Well, yeah, how'd he put it? 'Kid could hack Bill Gates and put the Apple logo on every screen in his house, if he wanted.' "

McGee grinned. "That sounds more like Tony."

They were quiet again until Benny said, "So you need to hear it, right? About the night I found him?"

McGee nodded. "Yeah, Benny, I do. I'm sorry."

Benny just sighed, the small sound at odds with his huge frame. "Like I said, I couldn't sleep so I went to his office to see if he was up. I knocked on the door, but he didn't answer so I went to leave. As I turned, I saw blood coming from under the door. Not just a drop or two either so it scared me. I thought it was from his injuries from the fight. Matter of fact, I'd found him on the floor of the head at about midnight the night before, coughing up blood and looking like hell. He swore he was fine so I let it go."

Benny shook his head sadly, obviously thinking that if he'd pressed the issue, maybe things would have turned out differently. McGee saw it and said, "Tony could be hemorrhaging from his eyeballs and still insist he's fine, believe me. That's just the way he is."

Benny nodded, his eyes grateful. "Either way, I was thinking that his internal injuries were worse than the doctors said and I expected to find him puking blood. I was so, so not prepared for what I found." He gulped a steadying breath, noting that McGee did the same. "He was on his back in the middle of the floor, one arm across his belly and the other flung out to the side, close to the door. That's where the blood I saw at first came from. It was like a river, just like a river from this horrible, deep cut in his wrist. I probably could have seen bone if there wasn't so much blood. His shirt was soaked with it, too, from where his other hand rested on his stomach. His face was so pale and he was barely breathing. I really thought he was dead until I found a pulse in his throat. I called for a medic and wrapped my handkerchief around one of his wrists. I couldn't find anything else nearby so I just put my hand around the other."

Benny looked sick and it tore McGee's heart out when he said, "I couldn't believe what he'd done, you know? Not Tony. I mean, I knew he was having nightmares and was really unhappy on the ship, but this? I just couldn't believe it." He swallowed hard, determined to finish. "With my hand on his bare skin, I could feel the blood pumping out with every beat of his heart. Part of me knew it was good that he was still alive, but I'd never seen so much blood in my life. The medics came and took him away and I just sat there, staring at all that blood until my buddy Big Bubba came by and made me leave. He's a good guy. Robert North is his name, if you need to talk to him."

McGee wrote down the name, trying to ignore how shaky his handwriting was. He looked at Benny and saw that he seemed just as drained as McGee felt. "Thanks, Benny. That's all I need. Unless there's anything else you want to add."

"No," Benny said. "That's it from me. But I need to ask you, they're saying this is being investigated as an attempted murder. Is that true? Is there any possibility that he didn't do this to himself?"

McGee looked up into Benny's troubled dark eyes. "We always investigate suicides as murders until we know differently. The truth is we just don't know yet."

Benny nodded mutely, watching McGee get up to leave, but the agent turned back once he reached the door.

"Thanks, Benny," he said again, and Benny knew it wasn't for telling his story. McGee's eyes were sparkling when he said, "Thank you for saving his life."

Benny watched the agent go and then slammed his fist into the nearest wall. _You're grateful, I'm grateful, but what if it wasn't what Tony wanted? What if he wanted to die? What then?_


	12. Chapter 12

**Earlier**

Tony was making his rounds of the ship when the PA blared above him, making him jump and wince at the same time.

"Agent afloat to the flight deck. Agent afloat, please report to the flight deck immediately."

_Oh hell, _Tony thought, breaking into a run. He made it about five strides before his ribs began to protest. He ignored the pain and rushed headlong down the corridor, yelling "Make a hole" and "Move" at the crew members, who instantly flattened themselves against the walls to make room.

Tony hopped nimbly over knee-knockers and launched himself up staircases, making his way to the deck as fast as his injured body would allow. He was breathing heavily as he jogged across the deck to a group of sailors who stood surrounding something in the middle he couldn't see. He hoped like hell it wasn't another fight. He wasn't sure he could break a brawl among the Golden Girls right then, let alone more young sailors.

"Agent DiNozzo!" someone yelled as he neared the group. "You've gotta do something. He's going to shoot himself."

Tony shouldered his way through the crowd and stopped, facing a young man with a gun to his head. "You," he said directly to the shaking sailor. "Don't do anything stupid, okay? Let me get these people out of here so we can talk, okay?"

The young man gave a quick nod but kept the gun pressed to his head. Most of the crowd had begun to disperse at his words, and Tony dispatched the rest with Gibbs-worthy glares. Tony grabbed the highest ranking sailor he could find and whispered, "Get everyone off the deck. Now. I want to be completely alone with him, got it?"

The man nodded and ushered the stragglers away.

Tony turned back to the young man, who couldn't have been more than 20. "How about we start with your name?"

"It doesn't matter, Agent DiNozzo," the young man said. "I'm dead. I'm going to do it."

_If you were going to do it, you'd have done it in your bunk or the head, kid. Not up here with an audience. You just want help._

Tony shook the thoughts from his head and said, "You know my name. It's only fair that I know yours. We'll start again. I'm Tony."

The kid bit his lip. "Jack."

Tony smiled encouragingly and took a step closer, but Jack saw the movement and backed up a step of his own.

"Don't come any closer," he said, his voice wild. "I'll do it."

"I believe you, Jack," Tony said, holding his hands up, palms outward in a nonthreatening gesture. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to talk."

The kid frowned hard, his hand tightening on the gun. "I don't want to talk. I'm fucking sick of talking, sir."

"You don't have to 'sir' me, Jack. I'm here as a friend."

"You're not my friend," Jack spat.

"No, not right now," Tony agreed, his hands still up. "But I want to be. If you'll let me. Why don't you start by telling me what's wrong."

"I said I don't want to talk," Jack said fiercely, suddenly turning the gun on Tony.

_Well, shit,_ Tony thought, his left hand itching to pull his own gun from the hostler he'd moved to his left hip. He almost shuddered in relief that he'd remembered to move the gun since he couldn't draw with his injured right hand—and that he practiced regularly with his left and was just as accurate with that hand. He really hoped he wouldn't get to test it today.

"Point that gun somewhere else, Jack," Tony said, his voice firm but still gentle. "I don't want to have to draw on you, okay?"

Jack didn't move, didn't speak.

_Goddammit. _

Tony pulled his gun in one smooth movement and hoped like hell the kid wouldn't shoot him. He held the gun with his left hand, letting it rest on the back of his right since he couldn't uncurl his fingers enough to cradle it properly. It wasn't a perfect stance, but it would have to do.

Jack blinked in surprise, looking down the barrel of Tony's gun. "You'd… you'd shoot me?"

"Only if you don't put down that gun, kid."

Jack debated for a second and then put the gun back to his own head. "Don't come any closer. I'll do it."

Tony lowered his gun but kept it at his side, unwilling to holster it again. "Talk to me, Jack. What happened today to make you want to do this? I really want to know."

Tony's gentle tone finally broke though some barrier and tears slipped down Jack's young face. "She cheated on me, sir. We've been together since middle school and she cheated on me. She couldn't even wait for me to get back to tell me. She's been seeing someone else since I shipped out, and today she tells me that she doesn't want to live two lives anymore. She picked him, sir, and I just don't think I can live with that."

Tony listened patiently, thinking again about how nice asexual sailors would be. "She was your first girlfriend, Jack?"

He nodded.

"Well, listen to me, Jack," Tony said, trying not to sound weary or condescending. "No one stays with their first girlfriend. You're really young, Jack. You've got a lot of time to find the right girl. Just because she was your first love doesn't mean she's the right one for you. Give it time. Date other people. You'll find someone else."

"I don't want anyone else. I want her. She's the right one for me."

"How do you know?"

"Because. Because it just feels right."

"What about now, Jack? Do you feel all right now? Was it right of her to see someone else? To tell you while you're away serving your country? That doesn't sound right to me."

Jack sighed. "No, sir. That doesn't sound right to me either."

Tony didn't speak. He just let Jack think.

The kid looked up, meeting Tony's eyes. "Do you really think I'll find someone else?"

"I do, Jack. I really do. But not if you do something stupid right now. If you don't put that gun down, it won't ever be right again."

Jack lowered the gun, and Tony let out a long breath. "Put the gun on the deck, sailor. Then step away slowly. Okay, Jack? Can you do that for me?"

Jack did as he was told, and Tony didn't breathe until the gun was in his hands and unloaded. Tony watched the guards lead the boy away, but Jack turned back and whispered, "How could she do that to me? How could she lie to me like that for so long?"

Tony didn't have an answer.

* * *

"Enter."

Benny poked his head into Tony's office later that night.

"You busy?"

Tony closed the file. He'd just finished writing up his report on the "incident" that afternoon. _Kid's life comes apart at the seams and it gets logged as an "incident." _

"Not anymore," Tony said, pushing Jack out of his head and giving Benny a smile. "Cards?"

Benny nodded and they settled into the game without much conversation. After several hands of silence, Tony realized Benny was watching him with concern.

"Come up with any good new recipes?" Tony asked, laying down a full house and watching Benny's concern turn to a scowl as he pulled the pile of Hershey's kisses to his side of the table.

"Yeah," Benny said, looking at his diminished supply of "chips" and dealing again, taking pity on Tony and his mostly useless right hand. "I think I'm going to call it 'Freakin' Cheatin' Agent Afloat Stew.' "

Tony grinned. "I bet it's really tasty," he said, laying down another winning hand. "Title could use some work, though."

Benny threw a chocolate at him, which Tony promptly unwrapped and ate.

"You just ate my last chip," Benny complained, tossing his cards down.

Tony just smiled happily, realizing how nice it was to have someone to unwind with, even if they didn't share the same job.

"Heard you had an interesting day," Benny said, once again seemingly reading Tony's thoughts.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Not every day that a kid claiming he wants to kill himself points a gun at you."

Benny's eyes went wide. "Holy shit, Tony. I didn't hear that part. Are you okay?"

Tony laughed. "Seriously, Benny? Back in the District, I'd be lucky if all the dirtbags did was point a gun at me. That'd be an easy day. Sometimes I think I've dodged more bullets than John Wayne."

Benny seemed to consider that for a moment, and Tony hoped he wasn't starting to form some weird sort of hero-worship. But then Benny frowned and reminded him just how perceptive his new friend was. "There's one big problem with that, though. John Wayne was an actor. The only bullets he dodged were fake."

"And cancer," Tony said, uncomfortable with Benny's sudden intensity. "Did you know he had a lung and couple of ribs removed in '64 because of it and still lived to tell the tale?"

"I'm serious, Tony," Benny said, exasperated. "That kid could have killed you today."

"Look, Benny, it's nice that you care so much, but this is pretty much my reality," Tony said honestly. "I get shot at and have guns pointed at me all the time. I was drugged and chained up in a sewer once, for hell's sake. I know what happened today was probably pretty unnerving to you, but believe me, it's just another day at the office for me."

Benny watched him with that strange awe again. "So you're telling me you're way too badass to be our little ol' agent afloat."

Tony flashed a mega-watt smile. "You said that. Not me."

Benny grinned, but the smile faded. He headed for the door, but stopped and cocked his head and said, "Wait a minute. Did you just say you were drugged and chained in a _sewer_?"

Tony rolled his eyes and shook his head. "It's a long story, Benny. I'll tell you some day, though. I promise. G'night."

* * *

_He was chained in the sewer again, his head fuzzy from the remnants of the drug still in his system. His father walked by on the street above, laughing and saying, "I told you so."_

_Tony turned away from the hateful voice and suddenly was staring at Jeanne's beautiful face. She was wearing those cute pink scrubs and somehow the grime of the sewer had yet to mar the soft fabric. She reached out a hand and freed him from the chains holding him down. _

_He took her hand and they walked together out of the sewer and onto the deck of the ship. The moon provided soft light, illuminating a small table set up with a romantic dinner complete with candles. It reminded him of the stunt he'd pulled outside the hospital that night, and he wanted to see her smile the way she'd smiled then so he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. Her soft lips met his and when he pulled back, the smile was there, lighting her face in a way the moon never could. Or the sun. Or all the stars in the sky. _

_They sat down for dinner and something caught his eye from across the flight deck. He saw that it was Jenny, filled with bullet holes and with her finger to her lips, a soft "shhhhhhhhhhh" floating across the night air and tickling his ear. _

_Jeanne didn't notice their spectral observer. She did however notice Ziva suddenly standing by the table. Tony knew why she was there and wanted to desperately beg her to leave. To give him just one more night. This time, Ziva didn't make him break Jeanne's heart by telling him to be a man and lie to her. _

_She did it herself. _

"_He does not love you," Ziva said, her voice as cold as the water displaced by the massive ship. "He never did. He never will. He has done nothing but lie to you. It was all lies because that is what he does. That is what he is good at."_

_Jeanne gaped at the space where Ziva had been standing and turned back to him with wide eyes. The pain he saw there ripped at his soul, stinging his entire being with a thousand poison-tipped darts. _

"_Is it true?" she asked. "You've been lying to me the whole time?"_

_He tried to find the words to tell her no, but he couldn't get any sound out. _

_Ziva's hand was clamped firmly over his mouth._

_Tony watched helplessly as Jeanne moved to his side, pulling his gun from the holster suddenly there. She put the gun to her head. _

"_You killed me," she said. "You killed any chance I ever had at a normal life. You ruined my ability to trust anyone ever again. You killed me, Tony."_

_Tony freed himself from Ziva's grip and rushed to Jeanne's side, reaching her just as she pulled the trigger. Blood and brain splattered across his face as she fell dead to the deck. He looked around wildly, the moonlight turning to burning sun that half-blinded him. He closed his eyes, dropping to his knees beside her and wailing in perfect anguish. He took her lifeless hand in his and continued howling out his pain until he couldn't breathe._

_When he opened his eyes again, he was on the rooftop. _

_And Kate's dead eyes stared unseeingly up at him. _


	13. Chapter 13

**Present**

Abby bounced with all the energy of chain-drinking three Caf-Pows—and her considerable impatience. She and Ducky were waiting in her lab for the team to video conference with them about the results of the fingerprinting done yesterday and Ducky's thoughts on the file he had been sent from the ship's infirmary.

"You know, Abigail," Ducky said, watching her practically vibrate beside him, "all that caffeine is terribly unhealthy for you."

She was about to answer when the video screen filled with the faces of her team. "Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs!" she cried. "And McGee and Ziva, Ziva, Ziva! How are you guys? You look terrible, all of you. Is Tony awake yet? Well, of course he's not because they would have called me first because I'm his proxy. Unless he just woke up this very minute, right as you guys were signing on. Like he knew you were going to see me and he wanted to see me, too. That's totally something Tony would pull."

"Abby!" Gibbs cut in. He softened his tone, watching her on the screen. "He's still unconscious. There's been no change."

"But you found something, right?" she said, her tone pleading. "I know you didn't find any fibers or hairs or blood that weren't Tony's, you told me that yesterday, but you had to have found something on the big, giant ship that means Tony didn't… that he couldn't have... Because he didn't, Gibbs! I just know he didn't. He wouldn't..."

Abby slumped back into her seat, having exhausted herself momentarily. She knew before Gibbs even opened his mouth what he was going to say. "Abby, calm down. We haven't found anything concrete yet. Did you run those fingerprints?"

"Yeah, and I got nothing. The ones you got were either Tony's, Benny's or the medics'," she said dejectedly before her brain caught up with itself. "Wait! Gibbs! You said nothing 'concrete.' Does that mean you found something un-concrete?"

Ducky watched Gibbs struggle and wondered what he had found—and why he didn't seem to want to tell Abby.

"We have the knife he used," Gibbs said, sounding older than either Ducky or Abby remembered him being a week ago.

"Allegedly used," Abby broke in, causing Gibbs to nod wearily.

Gibbs looked directly at Ducky when he said, "It's the knife I gave him, Duck. On his two-year anniversary with us."

Ducky frowned, remembering the knife and its inscription. "That's very disturbing, Jethro. I can't imagine that he would use something that means so much to both of you in such a horrible manner. He had to know what it would do to you."

Abby resumed her bouncing. "This is good news, right? I mean, nothing is good news until he wakes up, but this is somewhat good news, relatively good news. Well, everything's relative, really, because everything exists on a sliding scale in relation to everything else so there's no definite point of 'good' or 'bad'—"

"Abby!" Ducky and Gibbs both yelled at once. McGee covered a tired smile in the background with a poorly faked yawn.

"Oh, sorry," Abby said. "I'm just glad because this means Tony didn't try to kill himself. He never would have used that knife to do it. Never. You're like a father to him, Gibbs, and he'd never hurt you like that."

Gibbs tried not to let Abby's words buoy his hope too much, and he was glad for it when Ducky spoke up—until he heard the doctor's tone.

"Before you get too ahead of yourself, Abigail, you must hear this." Ducky's eyes were sad as he continued, "I went over the report from his doctor concerning his wounds. It's not good news, I'm afraid. The doctor determined from the angle of the cuts that they were indeed likely self-inflicted."

"But he's not you, Ducky," Abby protested. "He could have made a mistake. Or someone could have cut him like that to make it look like a suicide."

Ducky shook his head, unable to meet anyone's eyes. "There's more, I'm afraid. I had the doctor send me photos of his wounds, and I compared them with several case files in which the victim died after slicing his or her wrists. I was able to find a pattern in the wounds of those victims who were fully aware, with no drugs in their systems, when the cutting occurred. Those wounds showed rippling along the edges, indicating tension in the underlying muscle when the blade breached the skin. Those victims who ingested relaxing medications or large amounts of alcohol prior to their suicides, and therefore had very little tension in their muscles, showed no evidence of that rippling."

Ducky watched Abby's scientific mind evaluating and coming to appreciate the facts he presented. He knew the faint glimmer of excitement in her eyes at his brilliant reasoning would soon turn to crushing despair.

"Anthony's wounds clearly showed rippling," Ducky said, watching Abby's face crumble. He pulled her into his arms, patting her back and continuing over her shoulder as her pigtails bobbed in time with her sobbing. "He was conscious and sober when the blade sliced his wrists, and based on the doctor's findings, they were self-inflicted. I'm sorry, all of you, but if he were to cross my table right now, I'd be forced to rule it a suicide."

Gibbs sank into a nearby chair, and Ziva and McGee shared a soggy embrace. On dry land, Ducky continued to murmur softly into Abby's hair and pat her heaving back.

Gibbs, naturally, was the first to recover, but his voice was shaky. "He's not dead. All of you need to remember that. He's not dead, and he's not going to die, damn it. This is a setback, but we still have interviews to conduct, case files to go over."

Ducky stared at the screen in disbelief. "Jethro, you can't possibly still believe—"

"Until he wakes up and tells me he made those cuts," Gibbs said, his voice low and dangerous, "I'll believe whatever I want. I have an investigation to finish."

The video feed went blank, and Ducky sighed heavily, angry with Gibbs for continuing to give the team false hope. It was so unlike Jethro to disregard the facts, and Ducky realized again just how important Tony had become to Gibbs. Ducky couldn't help but wonder what Tony would think of the lengths his boss was going to for him. He felt his anger flare up at Tony once more for what he was putting his team through.

Abby finally pulled out of the doctor's embrace, wiping tears from her eyes. It was early, but she looked completely exhausted. Her voice was tired when she looked up at Ducky and said, "I can't do this anymore, Ducky. I just can't take the back and forth. The up and down rollercoaster ride is killing me."

Duck couldn't think of a single thing to say to that that he hadn't already said. And Abby saw it in his eyes.

"I won't believe it. Tony didn't try to kill himself. He wouldn't. I'm sorry, Ducky, but I'm with Gibbs. Until he wakes up and says he did, I'm not going to believe it."

Ducky watched her move to her computer, a sense of purpose bringing a bit of light back to her eyes. She began clicking and typing rapidly, bringing up lines and lines of characters that meant nothing to him but were obviously amusing to her.

"And may I ask what you're doing now, Abby?"

"I can't do anything here," she said, not turning from her task. "Gibbs and I just said it. He needs to wake up. That will make everything better. No, don't say it. I know. But if he did hurt himself, then we'll get him the help he'll need and deal with it together. But he needs to wake up. And I need to be beside him to help him do that."

"Abigail, Director Vance already said you need to be here," Ducky said. "You can't go. He won't authorize it."

Abby typed a few more commands and shut down the computer, smiling brightly for the first time since the doctor called her with the awful, unbelievable news.

"We'll see about that."

It took all of five minutes. Just several ringing phones and several more frustrated agents trying to log in to the system.

Abby's phone rang and she grinned. Ducky looked bewildered as the normal ringer was replaced by a blaring Lady Gaga song.

"Abby's Lab, home of the 99-cent Double-Tap Special. How may I help you?"

"Ms. Sciuto, my office, now," Vance said.

"Sure thing, Director. I'll be right up."

Ducky smiled faintly and shook his head as Abby swept out of the lab.

Abby passed several renditions of Lady Gaga's latest and several more agents staring in baffled, hypnotized silence at the dancing hamsters replacing their log-in screens as she made her way up to Vance's office.

She went in without knocking. He was expecting her, after all.

"Did you really think this was going to work?" Vance asked without preamble.

"You mean my sending you that email requesting immediate use of my ample vacation time and the copy of the relevant NCIS policy stating that leave may be used in the event of injury or illness of anyone under the employee's care?"

Vance's jaw dropped as he scanned his in-box. An appreciative smile crept across his face, despite his frustration. "So why the antics, Ms. Sciuto?"

Abby shrugged. "Might come in handy later."

Vance narrowed his eyes, wondering what that could possibly mean. "You've got your leave time. But you do know that arranging private travel to the ship is going to be expensive and ultimately impossible."

Abby grinned brightly. "About that. See, in Louisiana, my Gramma taught me how to barter. I got pretty good at it. And I hear you have a computer problem."

Vance shook his head, hiding his own smile behind his hand as he popped a toothpick into his mouth. "You are something else, Sciuto."

"Thank you, sir," Abby said. "So we have a deal?"

"You leave as soon as you fix it."

Abby smiled. "Gramma would be so proud."

* * *

Gibbs, Ziva and McGee had exhausted all possible interviews and they settled into Tony's office that evening to go through his case files and letters with the final day of the director's three-day deadline looming large in the morning.

Ziva sat sideways on Tony's cot, case files spread all around her. McGee was on the floor near the door with a similar pile surrounding him as he sat with his back to the door. Gibbs was parked at Tony's desk, the pile of letters in front of him.

Gibbs read through the letters, feeling extremely uncomfortable about invading the privacy of Abby's and Tony's conversations, even though Abby had given him the letters. He read through them all twice, learning nothing much new about Tony's mental state, several things about both of them that he wished he could un-know, and the details of Tony's and McGee's bet about the new team members.

Gibbs flipped back to the letter from Tony that stood out most.

_Abby_

_Jack be nimble, Jack be quick,  
Jack almost shot me 'cause his girlfriend's a bitch._

_That's how my day was, cherie, how was yours?_

_Okay, I know I'd never get away with that in person and it's not fair to do that to you in a letter. So, long story short, some girl was dating someone else while dating this sailor (named Jack, for reals) and then she dumped him because she couldn't live a lie. That last part sound familiar? Yeah, I thought so too. _

_(Jack didn't shoot me, by the way, probably wasn't ever going to.)_

_But the real bitch of it all (besides the girlfriend) is that I keep having all of these weird dreams. Tonight's featured the lovely Jeanne Benoit, go figure. Okay, so they're nightmares but I hate admitting that. But it's hard to deny when I've woken up screaming five nights out of six so far this week. And one night I must have been crying in my sleep because my face was wet when I woke up (not screaming) and the boat sure as hell didn't spring a leak. The stars of the show that night were my parents, my mom dead and dripping and my father doing what he did best: ignoring, drinking, and beating (in that order, always in that order). _

_I'm going to shut up now before I start to scare you. (Too late?) Anyway, the truth of the matter is I'm fine, just a little rattled by Jack the Flipper and that crazy dream. _

_You know what I remembered today? (I give myself too much credit. I actually just reread it in one of your letters.) I'm not going to be stuck on this ship forever. I'll get back to dry land before I know it, and I'll get to tug your pigtails in person. Thanks, Abbs, for being so great. I don't know what I'd do without you._

_Tony_

_PS—I know your scientist's brain will read this and judging by my 'that's how my day was' and subsequent mention of tonight's nightmare, realize that either:_

_I took a nap midday. _

_I lied about the 'my day' being _this_ day part._

_I'm writing this at 4 in the morning because said dream woke me up and I now cannot sleep to save my life._

_I'll let you pick (take whatever worries you the least). It'll be like a Choose Your Own Adventure. Let me know which one you pick and I'll tell you all about it when I get home. _

Gibbs scanned the letter once more, feeling again like a bastard for violating Tony's privacy like this. He knew there was no way in hell the agent would admit these things to him—hell, he took it as a very bad sign that Tony was upset enough to admit to Abby that he was having nightmares, waking up screaming and sometimes crying. The stark admission, right there in Tony's distinct handwriting, that his father beat him made Gibbs' gut twist. He'd known the man was an alcoholic and he'd had his suspicions, but seeing it confirmed by Tony's own words made him feel sick.

"Either of you find a case with a suicidal kid named Jack?" Gibbs asked.

McGee found the file and summarized the incident quickly. Gibbs read them the letter, leaving out certain parts, namely the part about his father and the crying in his sleep part.

McGee looked stunned at the admissions in the letter but he simply said, "Typical Tony, mixing jokes with seriousness to the point where you don't know what's what. I'm surprised he admitted to the nightmares though."

"I am not," Ziva said, drawing a look from McGee. She shrugged. "We all have nightmares."

"Tony talked the kid out of hurting himself," Gibbs said after a moment.

"And you are wondering if he could do that if he was having thoughts of suicide himself?" Ziva ventured.

Gibbs nodded, but McGee answered. "Easily. Tony can talk anyone into anything. He talked me into going out clubbing the night I shot Benedict after I swore I wasn't leaving my apartment."

Gibbs nodded again. "Like Ducky said, he's damned good at smoke and mirrors. Too good."

They were all quiet until McGee looked up from the file and said, "This is odd. Tony's letter says he almost got shot by the kid but he doesn't mention it in his report."

"No, it's not, Tim," Gibbs said with a soft, sad smile. "That's Tony going easy on a depressed, upset kid."

Gibbs stood and stretched, saying, "I'm going for coffee. I'll help with those files when I get back, and we'll finish the list of people who would have reason to carry grudges against Tony. Then we can start interviewing from there."

He went to the door before pausing and turning back, "Can I get you two anything?"

Ziva murmured a polite "No thank you."

McGee blinked, shaking his head mutely. He didn't want to think about the last time Gibbs had been so nice.

* * *

Gibbs stood beside Tony's bed in the infirmary, a shaky hand resting atop his agent's bandaged one.

"I was just going through the letters between you and Abby, and I wanted to apologize for violating your privacy like that. I'm sorry. But I need to know what happened to you, Tony. I just can't take the thought of not knowing. Not that I'd be okay with you taking that knife to your wrists. I wrote you a letter right after you shipped out. It wasn't very long and I never sent it because I was busy living up to that second 'b' but I wanted you to know that I wrote it. And I was thinking about you. A lot. I don't remember everything that was in the letter. It was short, go figure. But I know how I ended it. I wish I'd told you sooner, Tony, and I'm so sorry.

"It said, 'Let me know if you ever need anything.' And I meant it. I still do. You need to wake up. I can't lose you too."

Gibbs stood silently, fighting his raging emotions. He gave Tony's hand a final gentle squeeze and went back to what was left of his team.


	14. Chapter 14

**Earlier**

Tony awoke from the nightmare and rubbed a hand across his face, half-expecting to find Kate's blood on his hands. He pulled himself out of bed with no enthusiasm.

A knock at his door made him jump—and realize that he'd slept until almost 9 a.m. He really needed to lay off the Vicodin. He pulled on a pair of pants, looking down at his wrinkled shirt and thinking it would have to do.

"Enter."

Robert "Big Bubba" North's massive frame suddenly filled the doorway. "You got a minute?"

A wing of panic fluttered through his gut at Bubba's slightly anxious tone. _Please tell me you two didn't do anything stupid. I'll be so fired if anyone finds out what I did. _He shook his head and motioned the big man to take a seat. _At least I'd get off this damned boat, though…_

"Everything all right?" Tony asked somewhat warily.

"No," Bubba answered, running a giant hand through his blond hair. He saw the sick look on Tony's face and said, "Oh, no. It's not that, Agent DiNozzo. We learned our lesson, and I meant it when we said it wouldn't happen again. I don't think you understand just how much we appreciate what you did for us. It took a lot of guts."

Tony let out a slow breath. "Okay, good. You're welcome. What's up, then?"

"It's one of my bunkmates. I think he's on something."

_Great,_ Tony thought, wincing at the sharp pain that shot through his hand as he grabbed a pad and pen. _Like I need any more 'roid-raging maniacs around here._

"What's his name?"

"Carlos Palamar. He's real young, cocky. Always talking about the gang he used to be in."

"MS-13?" Tony asked, holding the pad so Bubba couldn't see the awkward way he was holding the pen in his damaged hand.

Bubba nodded. "Yeah. He says he cut ties with them when he enlisted, but I'm not so sure."

"Why's that?"

"He talks about them all the time. I mean, part of it is probably that he's young and wants to sound like a badass. But he doesn't talk like it's a part of his life that's over. He gets packages from 'friends' a lot and immediately the stories start again. He gets real squirrely sometimes and I noticed last night that his pupils were bigger than biscuits. I can't tell you what drug he's on, but it's got to be something."

Tony nodded, trying to write it all down. Good thing he had a good memory; his writing looked like a thousand wiggling worms caught in the throes of violent death. "You've never seen him actually take anything? Pills, needles?"

Bubba shook his blond head. "No, but he has this little bag that he takes everywhere with him. I don't think he knows I know about it. He's real careful with it."

Tony thought about that for a moment, thinking it should be pretty easy to find the kid and bust him with whatever drug of choice was in the bag. The hard part would be figuring out how he was beating the drug tests. "Anything else you want to add?"

"Nope. That's it."

Tony set the pad aside, watching Bubba's eyes go wide as he caught sight of Tony's swollen hand. "Thanks, Bubba," he said before the big man could comment. "I really appreciate you coming to me. And I'll keep your name out of it as much as I can."

Bubba nodded and stood, his eyes still on Tony's hand. "Sure, Tony. You're welcome. And I appreciate it. I don't want a pack of crazy MS-13 homies on my back when I get home."

Tony almost cringed at the word "home" and mentally shook himself. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

Bubba opened the door, but turned back. "That's a hell of a bruise, Tony. I heard you went one on one with Henry Stowell. He's one big dude. Are you okay?"

Tony nodded, uncomfortable with the intensity in Bubba's eyes. "I'm fine. And it wasn't one on one by choice. I'm not that dumb."

The blond man smiled faintly, watching the stiffness with which Tony got up. "It must be tough, though, being the only cop around here."

"You're telling me," Tony said, faking a smile. "No partner to con into doing the paperwork for me."

Bubba smiled. "Take care of yourself, Tony. Thanks for everything."

* * *

Tony spent the rest of the morning reading everything he could get his hands on about Carlos Palamar. He was disturbed by the sailor's deep entrenchment with MS-13, and he spent more time reading up on the gang. There was a lot of information but it all boiled down to one fact that he already knew: They were some seriously dangerous people. It was mid-afternoon by the time he finished reading and writing up his conversation with Bubba, and he cursed his slowness. Writing was still excruciating, but he had managed to straighten his index and middle fingers enough to be able to type, albeit slowly. His ring and pinkie fingers were still curled uselessly into his palm, and he knew he'd have to start forcing them straight. The longer he left them curled and motionless, the harder it would be later.

Disregarding his earlier thoughts, Tony popped a Vicodin and headed for the door. According to his schedule, Palamar should be leaving his work station in about an hour and Tony wanted to catch him on his way back to his bunk. He made his way along the corridor, making his rounds of the ship to kill time. He nodded to the crew members who actually acknowledged him but moved along mostly as a ghost.

Palamar left his work station right on time, and Tony fell into step beside the young man. Palamar seemed lost in his own thoughts and took a moment to realize who was beside him.

"Shi—, er, hey Agent DiNozzo," the sailor said, glancing around nervously.

_This is too easy sometimes,_ Tony thought, letting a lazy smile cross his face. "Got a minute, sailor?"

Palamar nodded enthusiastically. "For you, sir? Sure."

_Of course you do. _

Tony nodded to an open door and followed Palamar into a deserted laundry room. Palamar was looking at him with feigned casual curiosity, but his eyes widened when Tony firmly ordered, "Empty your pockets."

Palamar's hands went to his pants, but he asked, "Why? What's going on?"

Tony leveled a glare at him. "You know, I'd think between the Navy and MS-13, you'd learn to follow an order."

The sailor's eyes got wider and he sputtered, "I don't... I'm not... I'm not in a gang anymore, sir."

Tony smiled a predatory smile. "I never said you were. Empty your pockets."

Palamar did as he was told this time, but he said, "Don't you need probable cause or something to search me?"

"Just like a gangbanger to start quoting laws at me," Tony said, watching Palamar fume as he handed over the little black bag.

"I _ain't_ no gangbanger," Palamar said, his tone furious enough to make Tony wish he'd kept his big mouth shut. He wondered if maybe he should have asked for a replacement, at least until he regained the full use of his right hand.

"Calm down, sailor," Tony said, clumsily opening the bag and finding it empty.

_Well, shit. _

"What do you keep in this?" Tony asked, his tone neutral even though he was wearily thinking about how much easier it would have been if there had been drugs in the bag.

"Depends," Palamar shrugged.

"On?" Tony asked, the word sharp with his impatience.

"Just depends, brother."

"I am not your brother," Tony said, thoroughly annoyed now. "It's 'Agent DiNozzo' or 'sir' and it really doesn't matter if you don't want to tell me. I'm confiscating this and I'll send it to a lab and they'll tell me for you. Drugs are illegal, in case you hadn't heard, and I'll bust you as soon as those results come back."

Palamar grinned smugly. "Okay, you do that. They won't find any drugs in there. It's empty."

_Idiot. Don't you ever watch CSI?_ "Well then at least I'll know which brand of cookies you keep in your treat bag," he said with a smile of his own.

Palamar's eyes widened again but he didn't say anything.

"And just because I like to be thorough," Tony said, gesturing to the door, "I'm sure you won't mind coming with me for a piss test."

Tony watched his reaction, thinking again how much less work he'd have to do if Palamar had just had the drugs on him.

* * *

There was a gift waiting for Tony when he returned to his office later that night. It had been slipped under the door and lay on the floor in the middle of the small room. A single sheet of paper with big block writing screamed up at him: "I know you don't have backup, pig. Have fun watching your back. I know I will."

_And a good evening to you too, _he thought even as a fine shiver ran down his spine. Shrugging off his unease, he added a silent, _And that's "Special Agent Pig" to you, jackass. _

Tony grabbed a glove and picked up the note, thinking about the hassle it would be to bag it and send it to a lab. And there was no way he'd send it to Abby; she'd freak out completely.

He stared at the note dangling from his fingers. He'd busted enough sailors for infractions large and small to make plenty of people hate him. He wondered if it was a simple threat or if he should actually be worried. He found himself wondering what Gibbs would do if he knew about it. Would he be worried? Tony shook his head, banishing the painful thoughts of his former boss. He was on his own now. He knew he was technically nothing to Gibbs now, hadn't been since he'd let Jenny go and get herself killed. Sighing, he thought about picking up the phone and calling the captain. He knew he'd have to make an official report about the threat.

A knock on his door made him jump. _Hell, like I need any more reasons to be jumpy. Between the nightmares, the not sleeping, the getting the crap kicked out of me… _He stuffed the note into a random file on his desk and went to the door.

He almost opened it, knowing it was Benny, but a sudden image of those big bold threats made him call out first. _No use taking stupid chances._

"It's Benny," came the big man's voice. "Who the hell else would it be this time of night?"

"Kitchen?" Tony asked as he pulled the door open, needing to get his mind off the note. He didn't answer the question because he didn't feel like lying and because _"Someone waiting to kill me" _would start a conversation he didn't want to deal with.

"Kitchen," Benny agreed with a grin.

* * *

Later that night, Tony lay awake, thinking about what a crappy part of his job watching some guy take a piss was. Palamar was screwed anyway, as soon as those results came back positive in a day or two.

Another career down the drain, but Tony knew he was just doing his job. He forcibly turned his thoughts to Benny's latest chocolaty creation. He fell asleep thinking about its gooey goodness.

Too bad his dreams weren't as sweet.

_There were agents crawling all over the warehouse district. He was pretty sure they'd emptied the entire building in pursuit of the dirtbag of the day. Hell, he thought, Jerry the janitor is probably running around here somewhere, brandishing his mop with all the confidence of a street punk with a Tech-9._

_He moved deeper into the maze of buildings, watching agents peel off and scatter like shrapnel from a cluster bomb. He made his way along through the alleys, moving quick and low. For what seemed like hours, he followed the whispered voices of his team. After a while, he realized he hadn't seen anyone in a long, long time. No more voices spoke to him through his earpiece. Where had the voices gone?_

_Feeling a sudden, crippling disorientation, he dropped into a crouch, keeping his back to the nearest wall. He keyed the mike and fought desperately to keep the tremor out of his voice as he tried to contact someone, anyone. He stuffed down his rising panic and tried to think. _

_Then, with a roar he felt clear to the marrow of his bones, the wall behind him collapsed. He stood transfixed, watching the rubble rain down around him in a full-on concrete monsoon. He wasn't sure what terrified him more—the thought of being crushed, buried by the mountain of broken building or that he found himself suddenly standing out in the open, his cover reduced to a quivering pile of debris. _

_He closed his eyes, wondering where everyone else had gone. A blade of panic sliced through him and he turned back to the pile to begin searching for survivors—only to find it gone. In fact, everything was gone. He stood upon grease-marked pavement that stretched out in all directions, forever flat and revealing nothing—no people, no buildings, no cars. It was like standing at midnight in the deserted parking lot of hell. _

_He lifted his hand to speak into the mike there. Gibbs. His team. They would find him, help him. He felt slimy movement in his sleeve and pulled it back to find not communication wires but a snake, coiled tightly, coldly, wetly around his wrist. He watched in shocked fascination as it reared back its scaly head and sank its needle-sharp fangs deep into the palm of his hand. _

_He shrieked in pain and terror, his frightened wailing echoing across the sheer vacancy of his own private hell. He shook his arm fiercely, only vaguely worried about dislocating the joint with the ferocity of his flailing. The serpent fell away in a spray of bright red blood as its fangs dislodged from his wounded flesh. _

_He breathed deeply, slowly, trying to stop his wild shaking. He calmed himself enough to start moving again, if only because he had to find his team. There was a killer out there in the vastness of somewhere and they had to find him. _

_A faint footfall behind him made him whirl and he came face to face with an eight-by-ten glossy mugshot of their quarry perched atop subtly familiar shoulders. He saw the glinting knife in the apparition's hand just before he felt the burning violation of its razor-sharpness. He gasped softly as the blade sank into the soft center of his belly. His hands went immediately for the hilt and he felt his own hot blood pulsing from the wound in sickening syncopation with the racing of his heart. _

_His mouth was still a soft O of surprise as he tried to make sense of the pain and blood and his strange assailant. _

_His team. Where was his team? Where was his backup?_

_His eyes moved from the knife nestled to the hilt inside him to the photo/man standing before him. He watched in stunned shock as a calloused hand moved slowly upward. He sank to his knees onto the endless pavement and tasted the coppery tanginess of the blood suddenly pouring from his mouth just as the hand reached the photo-face. _

_Swift searing pain ripped through him and he looked down to find the knife gone and his own quivering heart cradled in his blood-drenched hands. He looked up at his killer and realized why._

_The photo had fallen away to reveal the man beneath._

_It was Gibbs._


	15. Chapter 15

**Present**

Abby didn't notice the stares of the sailors as she made her frenzied flight across the deck, her chains rattling against her black-clad legs and her boots clomping on the weathered metal. She was locked firmly on her target.

Gibbs waited until she had stopped crushing him in her fierce embrace to say, "Welcome aboard, Abbs. Don't know how you pulled it off, but I'm glad you're here."

Her eyes had already lost the sparkle they'd held upon first seeing him. "Is he awake yet?" she asked, knowing the answer.

Gibbs shook his head sadly and grabbed her bag. "I'll take you to him."

The Goth got plenty of stares on their way to the infirmary but no one challenged her presence. The glowering agent at her side might have had something to do with that.

Gibbs paused outside the cubicle. "You want me to go in with you?"

Abby took in his tired eyes and wondered if he'd gotten any sleep the night before. As much as she wanted him to remain glued to her side, she knew he had work to do. "I'll be okay." She paused, suddenly looking very young. "You'll come by later, though?"

Gibbs gave her a soft smile and kissed her cheek. "Of course. Tell him I said hi."

Abby waved and turned to enter the room, gasping softly at the restraints on his bandaged wrists. Of all the times she'd pictured him lying here like this to send him positive thoughts, she'd never imagined those tethers—and all their terrible meaning. They just made it all suddenly too real.

She forced herself farther into the room, her earlier need to be near him, to touch him, to watch him breathe disappearing in a burst of anger. _How could you do this to me? You selfish fuck. I hate you!_

She turned and fled the tiny room—only to run smack into Benny's massive chest. She was sobbing brokenly, whispering, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it," and he put his arms around her, holding her while she cried.

He murmured, "It's okay, Abby. Shhhh. He's going to be fine. I don't know him half as well as you do, but I know he's one stubborn SOB. It's okay, Abby. He's going to make it."

Abby pulled back after exhausting her tears—and herself. She looked up at the stranger who had just let her cry all over his shirt.

"Benny?" she asked, grabbing a tissue to clean up her mess.

"The accent gave me away, huh?" he answered with a smile.

She nodded. "And you smell like gumbo."

He laughed softly. "Just whipped up a batch this morning. You've got a good nose."

"I've been away from Louisiana for a while, but I'll never forget the smell of good gumbo."

He looked from her tear-streaked face to their unconscious friend and finally said, "Come on, let's go get you a bowl."

Abby frowned, debating, her anger having melted away, leaving cold despair in its wake.

"It's okay," he said. "I haven't been able to be here much, either. Staring at those damned bandages and knowing what's under them is just too hard."

Abby nodded, then moved to the bed and pressed her black lips to Tony's pale forehead. "I'm here, Tony," she whispered, kissing him again and trying to block the paleness and bruises. "I'll be back soon. And you'd better be awake then, mister."

Abby joined arms with Benny and said, "He knows I'm here now. He won't mind if I step out for some good food. Not Tony."

Benny smiled. "And I'm sure he knows he's been pretty crappy company lately."

Abby laughed, and for the first time since she'd gotten the call, felt like things just might be okay.

* * *

Gibbs stared at the list they had made of people who might want to hurt Tony and realized the agent had been busy. Since coming aboard, he'd busted numerous poker games, broken up fights, written up an officer for sleeping with a female crew member, and caught several drug users. The sheer volume of activity gave Gibbs a small amount of hope: The agent could easily have slacked off if he'd been seriously depressed and thinking about suicide.

_Yeah, but it also wouldn't be the first time DiNozzo buried his pain with piles of work. _

Gibbs held the last of the files and it was apparently the last case Tony had opened before… well, just before. He read the top sheet, noting that DiNozzo had obviously typed his notes from the interview with North. It made Gibbs think back to the bruising on his knuckles and wonder just how much pain he'd been in to make his writing illegible to even himself.

"Last one," Gibbs said to McGee and Ziva, who both looked thoroughly wrung out and exhausted. As much as he would have liked to let them get some rest, they all knew they had work to do if they were going to get to the truth before the end of the day. Gibbs was already thinking of ways to get Vance to extend the deadline. "Looks like this guy North came to Tony about his bunkmate, Carlos Palamar. North thought Palamar was doing drugs so Tony confiscated a suspicious bag of his and made him take a piss test. There are no results in here."

Gibbs flipped through the rest of the thin file, finding a single sheet of white paper face-down in the pile. He turned it over and felt dueling emotions surge through him at the words there. He felt part hope, part frustrated anger.

"Dammit, DiNozzo," he breathed, making McGee's and Ziva's heads jerk up in unison.

Gibbs turned the sheet toward them. They had no trouble reading the bold threats from halfway across the room.

Ziva commented, "Well, at least that is good news. It could be evidence that he did not try to harm himself."

"Good news?" McGee cried, ignoring the shocked faces of his team at his outburst. "How can you say that? Someone threatened him, throwing in his face the fact that he's alone out here, and you think that's good news?"

Ziva's eyes slipped to the floor briefly before meeting McGee's green ones. "I am sorry, McGee. I did not mean to be insensitive."

Gibbs watched the exchange and tried to ignore the high-flying emotions and focus on the case. "Let's not get too excited," he said, drawing an incredulous look from McGee, who looked like he was barely holding it together. "It could also have been the final straw. Imagine being depressed, alone and in pain, and getting that letter. It could have been what finally broke him."

McGee shot to his feet as if he'd been shocked. "How could you say that, Gibbs? This is Tony we're talking about. Tony doesn't just 'break,' goddammit. What is wrong with you two?"

Gibbs let him purge his anger, watching him slowly realize how he'd just spoken to his boss. Before he could start apologizing, Gibbs said, "Take a break, Tim. Go see him and Abby. Ziva and I are going to find out who on this list is still on the ship."

McGee swallowed hard, wanting to apologize. Gibbs caught his eye as he made his unsteady way to the door and McGee felt relief flood him at the understanding he saw in the man's gaze.

"Thanks, Boss. I won't be gone long."

* * *

McGee went to the infirmary and found Tony alone. He wondered where Abby had gone but figured she'd be back soon. He had to make this quick then. He took his partner's hand, cradling his limp fingers as delicately as he would a newborn baby. Even though it scared him, he needed the contact, needed to feel the warmth in Tony's pale skin. He needed a physical reminder that he was still alive.

He whispered his thoughts, not wanting to be overheard by the staff. "Tony, I kind of hate you right now. Everything has just been so horribly wrong since you… since you got here. I just yelled at Gibbs, for crying out loud. I told him you wouldn't do this, you wouldn't break. I'm scared out of my mind that you'll never come out of this. I kept a bottle of acetone in my desk down in cyber crimes, you know. Stupid wishful thinking, I guess. Or maybe just a reminder of happier times. I missed you before all this. And now… now I just can't handle that you might never call me 'Probie' again or that you might never piss off Gibbs enough to make him headslap you. Has he? Has he come by and ordered you to live yet? I bet he has. He knows you'd never disobey one of his orders. I don't really hate you. I just hate _this_. This isn't supposed to be happening. Not to you. I need you to wake up, okay? Just please wake up so you can tell us this is all a bad dream. Please?"

"He did," Abby said softly from behind him. "Gibbs told me he ordered him to get better."

McGee turned, smiling faintly at Abby and her escort. "Hey Benny."

"Tim," Benny said with a nod of greeting. He looked confused. "What's this about ordering him to live?"

Abby grinned and settled in at their friend's bedside, gently taking Tony's hand and regaling Benny with an animated telling of the story.

* * *

McGee returned to find Gibbs and Ziva with a decidedly shorter list of suspects.

Ziva quickly explained the changes. "Edward Daly, the officer who slept with the female crew member—and one of our top suspects—left the ship the morning of Tony's attack. He is finished with the Navy."

McGee noticed Ziva's calling it an "attack" with a calming gratefulness. "More like the Navy is finished with him."

Ziva nodded and continued, "There are quite a few sailors still on board that Tony busted for poker games, including Robert North, the man who came forward about his bunkmate. But we do not think that any of those people would be angry enough to do something like this."

"A poker game on your record doesn't seem serious enough to kill over," Gibbs said.

"We have decided to start with the most recent incidents," Ziva said, looking over her notes, "which leaves Petty Officer Damon Willis, one of the men involved in the fight Tony broke up."

"Was that the guy who hurt him?" McGee asked, Tony's bruised jaw still lingering in his memory.

Ziva shook her head. "That was the other man involved, Stowell, and he is currently off the ship and facing charges of assaulting a federal officer and several drug charges. And finally there is Tony's most recent case against Carlos Palamar, who has MS-13 connections."

"He's still on the ship, pending the results of those tests," Gibbs said. "North's an unlikely candidate, considering he came forward with the evidence against Palamar. I'm going to find Palamar. Ziva, find Willis. McGee, you've got North."

"But you said—"

"I know, McGee," Gibbs said, trying to be patient. "But see what you think about him and then ask if he received any threats. Don't forget that we found the note in Palamar's case file. Tony either knew it was from him or suspected it could have been."

They nodded and headed for the door, but stopped at Gibbs' sudden thoughtful words. "Or it's possible he stuck it in a file just to get it out of sight," he mused. "It was upside down and backwards in the file."

McGee and Ziva nodded their agreement, but McGee looked uneasy. Gibbs didn't miss the sudden emotion. "What, McGee?"

"Boss," he said nervously. "You are just going to talk to Palamar, right?"

"Of course. Just talk," Gibbs said, watching his agents share a look as they left. _And if I find out he's the scum who hurt my agent, part of that conversation will include a nice, friendly "Enjoy your swim."_

Alone with his thoughts, Gibbs found himself staring at the threatening note. He let out a long breath, shaking his head sadly. _What the hell, DiNozzo? You knew you were vulnerable out here alone. What were you thinking not reporting this? It's a blatant threat. You should have told someone... The captain... Your friend Benny... _

_Me. _

_Dammit, DiNozzo. You should have told me about this. _

He knew it was irrational, but he couldn't help thinking that he'd let Tony down. Not by not being able to watch his six, but because he had failed to convince the man that he was worth protecting.

* * *

Gibbs made his way back to the infirmary, intent on keeping his promise to Abby before confronting Palamar. He pulled back the curtain to find Abby and a huge black man laughing their heads off. The agent smiled, feeling overwhelming relief flood him at Abby's uplifted mood, even though he knew it was probably only temporary. They had all been strapped unwillingly to this horrorshow of a rollercoaster ride, and it was good to see Abby on an upswing.

"Hey Gibbs," Abby said from her perch beside Tony's motionless body. Just seeing his agent like this again sent him crashing back down along the rails of the awful ride. Abby nodded to her companion. "This is Benny Lyman, one of Tony's friends."

Gibbs knew he was also the man who had found Tony and saved his life. Gibbs shook his hand, surprised by the gentleness in the massive grip, and said sincerely, "I'm Special Agent Gibbs. I heard your quick thinking is the reason he's still with us. Thank you."

Benny looked at the agent curiously, taking in the haunted way he looked at Tony. Tony obviously meant a lot to this man, and Benny knew the reverse was true from several of their conversations. "Gibbs? As in the 'G' on the knife?" He gave Gibbs a sympathetic look as the agent nodded, his mouth twisting with obvious pain. "I'm so sorry. You must be in hell right now."

"I'm getting by."

Abby was watching him like he was a particularly intriguing piece of evidence. "Do you have any suspects yet?" she finally asked.

Gibbs glanced at Benny, his training and experience making him uneasy talking about the case in front of an outsider. But his gut was telling him this man had been good to Tony, and he knew from Abby that this man had been there for him when they hadn't been able to. For that, he was extremely grateful.

"A few," he said. "Ziva and McGee are tracking some down now, and I'm going to interview another."

The Goth nodded, making her pigtails bounce. "You can go, Gibbs. I'm in good hands," she said, pleased with the smile Benny gave her and thoroughly meaning her words. It was immeasurably easier to sit here with Tony and all his uncertainty with a kind soul by her side.

Gibbs nodded and turned to leave, thinking about his upcoming meeting with Palamar and feeling calmer than he had in weeks.


	16. Chapter 16

**Earlier**

Tony awoke with a low growl of frustration. It was just about midnight. He'd been sleeping for an hour and had still managed to have a nightmare bad enough to wake him. At least he wasn't screaming this time.

The dream seemed fuzzy this time and Tony was glad for the haziness of it. He felt slightly sick and knew the uneasiness had come from the dream. He tried to push the thoughts aside before they led him back into the nightmarish dream world. As unsettled as he felt, it was probably better if he didn't remember it.

_Too late._

The nightmare came rushing back at him with startling clarity, playing back in his head in hyper-speed but having no less effect. His breath caught in his throat at the image of the knife plunging into his belly and he started shaking, reliving every ounce of the pain and terror of the dream.

_Gibbs._

Tony suddenly desperately wanted to hear his boss's voice, his need to hear its familiar tone a perfect mirror of the aching longing he'd felt for his mother as a child. _What the hell is wrong with you?_ some rational part of his mind wondered. The rest of him shook with anguish and frustration. _I can't take this anymore, I just can't. Please. Oh shit, please. I can't do this. Oh please oh please oh please._

Tony knew he was starting to hyperventilate and he stood, the sudden shift in equilibrium making him nauseous. He clamped a hand over his mouth, inadvertently straightening his damaged fingers and biting back a scream at the sudden searing pain. His throat tightened to the point of choking as he tried not to cry, not to just sit down and sob his heart out. Rationally, he knew Gibbs would never hurt him, but the dream had seemed so real. They all had seemed so real lately.

He felt suddenly claustrophobic—a new and wholly unnerving development—and he staggered out of his office and into the equally tight corridor. Gasping, trying to force air into his lungs, he made his way to the head near the end of the deserted hall. Black spots marred his vision and his panic tripped into high gear. He dropped to his knees in one of the stalls and threw up, the heaving making his ribs catch fire, which only sped his panicked breathing. He felt the stitches pop in his mouth and the taste of blood was suddenly overwhelming. He gagged again, coughing out blood this time.

He knew he needed to get his breathing under control or he was going to pass out. He felt big hands on his shoulders and panicked again. _Shit. I let my guard down. The note, they're coming for me._

"Breathe, Tony. Just breathe. It's okay."

Tony was instantly flooded with relief at the drawling voice behind him.

"Ben—Benny," he gasped, only to have the big man shush him and loop an arm around his trembling shoulders.

Benny dragged him bodily out of the stall and propped him against a wall, his concerned face becoming clearer through disappearing black bubbles as Tony's breathing evened out.

"That's it. Just breathe. Nice and slow. Breathe. Relax. I've got you, Tony."

Benny disappeared for a moment and returned with a wet paper towel. He handed it to the agent and then sat back on his heels, watching his friend until he'd recovered enough to speak.

"Shit, Benny, I'm sorry," he said, his voice slightly raw. He wiped the blood from his mouth. "This is seriously embarrassing."

"Nonsense," Benny said, reaching out a hand. "You're hurt. Come on, I'll help you back to the infirmary and we'll get a doctor to check you out."

It took Tony's fuzzy, reeling brain a moment to realize what Benny was talking about. He decided to go with it. Being injured was much better than being shocked into physical illness by a stupid dream. Tony realized Benny was still holding out his hand so he took the help and stood shakily, feeling his cheeks burn as Benny refused to let go of him.

Benny let him steady himself for a moment before pulling him gently toward the door. "Come on. I'll stay with you while the doctor checks you out."

Tony allowed Benny to lead him down the hall before putting an end to the sad little charade. He stopped outside his office door. "Benny, look, I appreciate the offer, but I'm okay. I just need to get some sleep."

Benny's eyes widened and he turned to face the agent, rising to his full height and letting his frustration bleed into his smooth voice. "Are you insane? Did I not just find you coughing up blood on the bathroom floor just days after getting the crap kicked out of you? Did I imagine that? 'Cause I thought this was your blood on my sleeve. Or am I imagining that, too?"

Tony flinched at his friend's suddenly angry tone. He tried to think of a way out of this, but his tired brain wasn't cooperating.

But Benny just continued, his anger still evident but his concern starting to show, too. "Jesus, Tony. I might just be a big dumb cook, but I have enough sense to know that coughing up blood is a bad thing. You could be bleeding internally, dammit. And you think _sleep_ is going to fix that?"

Tony gave Benny a half-smile. "Blasphemy."

Benny rolled his eyes, releasing the grip he had on Tony's arm so he wouldn't try to shake some sense into him. "This isn't funny. You may live in a world of blood and guts, but I don't. This is serious."

"It's really not, Benny, I'm fine. Really. You're right. This isn't my first experience with something like this. I know when I'm in trouble."

Benny gave up without another word, shaking his head and turning his back on his friend, thinking, _No, Tony, I really don't think you do._

* * *

Tony shut the door and immediately sagged back against it.

_Shit._

The last thing he'd wanted to do was upset Benny. He felt something warm running down his chin and swiped at it, his fingers coming away bloody from his split lip. He grabbed a tissue from the desk, his eyes catching the files there. He turned and locked the door behind him, thinking about the note he'd shoved in one of them to hide it from Benny. Part of him wanted to go find his friend and apologize and tell him about it, but he dismissed the thought before it was even fully formed, knowing he couldn't share that with the young cook. He couldn't put him in danger like that. He pushed the note out of his head and decided he'd tell the captain about it in the morning.

Tony looked around his office, his eyes landing on his cot. He was way too wired from the dream and the confrontation with Benny to sleep. He thought about the bottle in his drawer and closed his eyes, wincing as he sank into his chair. He stared at the drawer. He didn't want to use the bottle as a crutch, as so many cops did, as his father had.

But he was so tired—yet still too upset to sleep. With a sigh filled with bone-deep weariness, he pulled the bottle out and set it on his desk, simply staring at it. God, how he wanted to be able to call Abby. Or make a visit to Gibbs' basement. He ached for it so fiercely that he could almost smell the sawdust. The overwhelming sense of loss that tore through him made him uncap the bottle and take a long pull, wishing the alcohol carried the faint tang of discarded metal. He stowed the bottle and sat back in his chair, arms resting on his head. The elevation instantly made his throbbing hand feel better but did nothing to ease the pain in his heart.

_How did things get this fucked up? _He forced down the nausea that came with the answer. _I did this. I lied to him about Jeanne. I failed to keep Jenny safe. This is my fault. _And the worst thought was yet to come.

_He'll never forgive me for that. _

_And he shouldn't. I don't deserve that kindness. I may hate it here, but I deserve this punishment because I did this. I ruined the only chance at a real family I ever had—and they're not even my real family. Fuck I miss them. I miss them all so damned much. _

He shot to his feet, too worked up to sit. He changed as quickly as his hand-injury-induced clumsiness would allow and fled the office, heading straight for the gym. It was late and he figured he'd be alone. Paradoxical to his thoughts, he desperately wanted the solitude. If there were any other late-night exercisers, he'd simply throw them out.

Being agent afloat had to have _some_ perks.

He breathed a sigh of relief at finding the "treeless park" deserted and went for the nearest treadmill, slipping his earbuds in and letting Abby's loudest drown his thoughts. He ran despite the pain in his ribs on each sharp inhalation. He didn't care. It actually felt good, compared with the stark emptiness he had felt upon waking from that awful nightmare.

He shut his eyes against images of knives plunged by friends into his soft flesh, a hand on the console in front of him to aid his impeccable balance. He didn't know how long he ran, his eyes either closed tightly or glancing at the belt speeding by beneath his feet.

When he finally stopped, he was gasping and sweat-soaked and aching—inside _and_ out, now. He caught sight of himself in the mirror as he made his way to the door and realized the wound in his lip had opened again and bled freely during his frenetic workout, staining his shirt. The pain made him long for the Vicodin in his office, but he stared at his wild reflection in the mirror for a bit longer, wondering again how he'd gotten to this point.

And how long he could hang on like this.


	17. Chapter 17

**Present**

Gibbs found Palamar in the gym, trying to knock the stuffing out of a punching bag. The agent quietly cleared the rest of the sailors and watched the young man's technique for a moment, realizing how strong the kid was. _Strong enough to have done this to Tony without help?_

"Palamar!" Gibbs barked and watched with predatory anticipation as the man jumped about a mile. "Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. Get over here."

Palamar regarded him warily as he made his way over. "Sir?"

"Let me see your hands," Gibbs said, almost hoping Palamar wouldn't comply so he could get out some of the frustration he'd felt building since Abby had given him the devastating news.

Palamar eyed him and did as he was told.

Gibbs noted the scrapes on the young man's unprotected hands. "You should wrap those next time. You could really hurt yourself."

Palamar's eyes widened a bit at the threatening tone Gibbs put behind the seemingly kind advice. "I, well, I uh, I was upset, sir. I needed to blow off some steam."

"Upset about what?"

"Captain Fordham came by with my drug test results," Palamar said, his eyes downcast. "It was positive and I'm done. For good."

Gibbs tried to gauge Palamar's reaction, but all he could see were his scraped knuckles. _Did those hands take that knife to Tony's wrists? _

"That the only thing you're upset about?"

Palamar looked angry at that. "That's not enough?" he asked, an edge to his voice.

"You seem like an angry guy, Palamar," Gibbs said. "MS-13 connections, a drug problem, the way you were pounding the piss out of that bag."

"I'm done with MS-13, sir," Palamar spat, but he still did not meet Gibbs' eyes. "They've ruined my life twice. It's not going to happen again."

"So you are an angry guy," Gibbs said, watching the sailor fight his building rage. Suddenly, Gibbs reached forward and grabbed the young man by the collar, the bandages on Tony's wrists burning brightly in his mind. "Were you angry with Agent DiNozzo for busting you? For ruining your career?"

Palamar looked only slightly terrified. He panted, "Of course I was."

Gibbs' vision went red and he slammed Palamar back against the wall. "Angry enough to get even?"

"No, sir. No, I—" Palamar sputtered.

"Angry enough to attack him?" Gibbs yelled, still in the sailor's face, still holding him by the collar. "Angry enough to slice him open and let him bleed out all over the floor?"

Palamar's eyes were wide with shock. "I didn't do that, sir." He went on quickly before Gibbs could respond. "I did this to myself, sir. I ruined my life with my stupid gang and my stupider drug habit. I did _not_ hurt Agent DiNozzo."

Gibbs listened to the pain in Palamar's voice as he made his quiet admissions of his guilt. His gut was starting to tell him Palamar was innocent. "Where were you that night, sailor?" he asked, tempering the rage in his voice and stepping out of the young man's space.

Palamar nodded and adjusted his collar, looking relieved. "I was at my work station, sir."

Gibbs' gut twisted again, reversing back on itself like a snake. "Your schedule says you were off that night."

"I know, sir, but I came in to cover for another sailor who was sick. He passed out mid-shift and had to be taken to the infirmary. I was there from 2100 on through the night. I was even there when we all heard about Agent DiNozzo."

_Well, shit. _Gibbs turned with a disgusted sound to go check out the story. He cursed the idiot who had decided not to update the duty roster. All this time wasted—and they had so precious little left.

* * *

McGee sat across from Robert "Big Bubba" North and wondered how he kept getting the massive sailors to interview. The big blond man gave McGee a smile, though, and McGee settled down to business.

"Thank you for your time, sailor," McGee said. "I just have a few questions for you."

Bubba nodded. "Sure. Anything for Tony."

The familiarity caught McGee off-guard. He hadn't realized they were friendly. "How well do you know him?"

"Not extremely well, but he seems like a good guy."

McGee frowned. "He busted you for a stakes poker game just a short while ago. You don't seem angry about that."

Bubba lifted a shoulder. "I was doing something I wasn't supposed to and I got caught. Can't really blame him for doing his job."

"The last case Tony was working on involved you and your bunkmate, Carlos Palamar. Tell me about that."

"I found out Palamar was doing drugs and I reported him," Bubba said. He thought for a moment. "Not really anything else to it."

"Tony received a threatening letter that may have been related to the case," McGee said, pulling out a copy and watching North's eyes widen as he read the big block threats. "Did he tell you about it?"

Bubba shook his head. "No, he didn't. Man, that's awful."

"Did you receive any threats?"

"No," Bubba said, looking thoughtful. "Do you think Palamar sent that and then attacked Tony?"

"We're investigating the possibility," McGee said. He was reminded of his conversation with Benny and tried not to shudder at the images it evoked. "You were there that night, right? After Benny Lyman found Tony?"

"Yeah," Bubba said, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "It was a real mess. And poor Benny. He was just covered in all that blood. Just sitting there staring at the pools of it. I was surprised—and really relieved—when they said Tony wasn't dead. There was just so much blood."

McGee swallowed hard, trying to focus on something that was hovering at the edges of his thoughts. "What time did you get there? Tony was brought into the infirmary at about 0200. That's an odd time for you to be visiting."

Bubba shrugged again. "I remembered something about Palamar that I wanted to tell Tony. I know it was late, but I also knew Benny and Tony kept odd hours because of insomnia so I figured since I was up, I'd go see if Tony was too." Bubba looked sheepish for a moment. "I was having some trouble sleeping myself. I was worried that Palamar would find out I ratted him out, and with him being my bunkmate and all…"

McGee nodded. "What was it that you wanted to tell Tony?"

"It was about Palamar. I remembered another place he might be keeping his stash," Bubba said, shaking his head. "But it probably doesn't matter now. He's toast anyway."

McGee nodded again. "Is there anything else you can think of about that night? Did you see anyone in the hall who shouldn't have been there?"

Bubba considered that before saying, "No. I didn't see anything, really. All I remember now is all that blood."

* * *

Ziva watched Damon Willis settle into the chair in front of her and she tried not to focus on the man's injuries. The whole left side of his face was bruised and swollen, and Ziva shuddered, thinking about the man who had attacked him—and the similar injuries he'd inflicted on Tony. Her thoughts turned to what _this_ man might have done to Tony, though, and she identified herself and began the interrogation.

"What started the fight between you and Stowell?"

Willis looked nervous. "Stupid argument about weightlifting. We had different theories on techniques and started arguing. Next thing I know I'm on the ground and Agent DiNozzo is telling Stowell to pick on someone his own size."

Ziva tried not to smile at that, but it was just so very _Tony. _"So who threw the first punch?"

"He did, ma'am. We struggled, I hit him a few times, and then it was all over for me." Willis' eyes went to the floor. "Stowell's a big guy, and even Agent DiNozzo was having a hard time with him. It took him and three other sailors to subdue him. I heard he was on steroids."

"And you were punished for your role in the fight?"

Willis nodded. "A whole lot of docked pay and a formal reprimand in my record."

"And that probably made you angry," Ziva said, carefully watching his reaction.

Willis glared back at her. "I didn't attack Agent DiNozzo, ma'am, if that's what you're insinuating."

Ziva stayed silent, sensing that Willis had more to say.

"I heard what he did, Officer David. You're wasting your time investigating me… and anyone else. You know who did it. He did. He cut himself up, trying to commit suicide."

"And you know that for certain because…?"

Willis scoffed. "You know what his nickname around here was? Agent DiRacula. The guy never slept, he was always wandering around at all hours of the night. Everyone knew it. He never talked to anyone, except to bust someone for something. I'm not really all that surprised that he tried to off himself." He smirked. "I'm just surprised the big bad special agent couldn't get it right."

Ziva was out of her chair before Willis could even finish the sentence. Her arm hit his throat and he clattered to the floor, pinned under her strategically placed weight. "You sick little piece of crap," she hissed into his face. "That is my friend you are insulting, and you would be wise to not do so again. Do you understand me?"

Willis nodded as Ziva stood.

"Where were you that night?"

"With my bunkmate."

"Name."

"Doug Lowe," Willis answered, peeling himself off the floor. "We were there all night."

Ziva left without another word. She was too afraid of what she might do to him if she stayed a moment longer.

* * *

The team gathered in Tony's office again to report their findings. Gibbs reached into a drawer for a pen and felt his heart clench at the chocolate bar he found there. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to run to the infirmary and simply watch Tony breathe.

"McGee, you first," he said, stuffing down his anguish and firmly closing the drawer.

"North seemed to like Tony even though he got busted for the poker game," McGee said, glancing through his notes from his position by the door. "And he reported Palamar. He didn't receive any threats."

"Willis is a jackass," Ziva said, her dark eyes blazing. "He flat-out told me Tony did this to himself and that we are wasting our time investigating. His alibi checks out, though. I spoke with his bunkmate and they were together all night."

McGee heard the anger in her voice and wondered if they would be investigating an actual murder in the morning. It would be a good way to stay on the ship, at least.

"Palamar couldn't have done it," Gibbs said. "He was at his work station covering a shift. I gave the idiot who was too lazy to update the duty roster a piece of my mind for that."

"There are so many possibilities," Ziva said, frustration clearly written across her pretty features. "So many minor suspects and we will never be able to interview them all."

Gibbs shook his head. "But we can damned sure try."

Their eyes all strayed to the clock at about the same time. It was just after noon and they had nothing—and mere hours to solve the puzzle.

* * *

Abby had long since abandoned the chair and was sitting on the bed at Tony's side. She let her eyes wander over his familiar features and tried to block out the paleness, the dark circles and the bruised jaw. She was flooded with memories and tears began to streak down her face, the blackened drops leaving dark trails on her cheeks. She leaned down and pressed her wet face against his rough cheek, covering his body in a gentle hug.

She spoke quietly, her breath soft against his neck as she cuddled closer. "I don't know what happened out here, Tony, but we're going to find out. You know Gibbs won't rest until we know. Or McGee, or Ziva. Or Ducky. Or me. There are so many people who care so much about you. I hope you know that. I hope you _knew _that. As much as I don't want to believe that you did this to yourself, I know you were hurting out here all alone. I knew about the nightmares and I told you to talk to someone about them. Why didn't you do that? Why didn't you listen to me? I'm trying so hard not to hate you. Not to blame you. I just wish I knew for sure.

"No matter what, though, DiNozzo, I'm going to stay glued to your side. We'll all be here for you and we'll get you through this. And if someone did this to you, then we both know Gibbs won't rest until he makes them pay for hurting you. I need you to wake up, Tony. I really, really need to see those green eyes of yours, that awesome smile. 'Cause I'd give anything right now, really anything, just to see you open your eyes and smile at me. Please, Tony. Please."

Abby sat up, wiping the tears from her face and adjusting her pigtails. She gave one a solid tug.

"You're going to be okay. I know you will. You've never let me down before, and you're not going to start now."


	18. Chapter 18

**Earlier**

_He was walking toward the fantail again. He knew he wasn't alone, but he couldn't see anything but cold moonlight as he looked around. He heard the swishing of the water moving around the ship, and the soft sounds surprised him when they turned to whispers. _

_He whipped around, feeling the presence closing around him like fog. He came face to face with a legion of the dead. Bullet-riddled Jenny, Kate and her unseeing eyes, Paula's eternal shock, his mother and her red rivers, the victim from the first murder case he'd caught with her head half caved in by a jealous lover. In fact, the torn, twisted, broken, mangled, bloody bodies of every murder he'd ever worked staggered toward him in a violent parade of senseless death. _

_He backed toward the edge, his hands up defensively as the mob slowly encircled him, their keening cries ripping his heart to shreds. "I'm sorry," he whispered over and over, backing ever closer to oblivion. _

_He took another step back and was met with nothing but the cool night air. Terror and relief warred inside him as he fell away from the death squad. He expected to hit the cold water and begin his slow descent down to the depths of hell so he was surprised when he landed on a hard surface. He found himself flat on his back on the deck, his spectral stalkers crowding around him, their rotting flesh marshmallow soft as they held him down. _

_He tried to scream but found his mouth stuffed with cotton. Panic overwhelmed him and he began bucking against his hellish captors, freeing one arm only to have it shoved down again and trapped beneath reeking corpse-flesh._

"Hold him down, dammit!"

Tony's eyes popped open only to find blackness, and he wondered if he was still dreaming. He was still being held down, and he knew from the scratchy softness of the thin carpet under him that he was on the floor in his office.

He was flat on his back, his arms held down by a person on each side of him, kneeling on pillows covering his arms. _What the fuck?_ A gag had been stuffed into his mouth and he forced himself to breathe slowly through his nose so he wouldn't pass out. He twitched his face, trying to move the blindfold, and a sliver of soft light slid under the cloth.

He saw a hand holding the knife Gibbs had given him on his two-year anniversary with NCIS. _What the fuck?_ The blade moved out of his tiny line of sight and down to where his hands were pinned against the floor, palms up. _What the fuck? What the fuck?_

He tried to scream as the strange positioning and soft restraints and the knife made sudden, terrible, horrifying sense. A tiny part of his terrified shriek slipped out from under the gag and a hand clamped over his mouth, effectively muting it. _And ending any chance you have of stopping this. No. No way. NO!_

He fought hard, struggling fiercely with everything he had, all-consuming panic setting in when he realized he couldn't move. Someone was kneeling over his legs and the two holding down his arms were doing a perfect job of their awful task. His hands closed into fists as he struggled and he barely registered the pain in his damaged right one.

He felt a hand pry his fingers open and he tried again to howl out his pain and rage, only to be muted by the gag and restrained by too many hands with too much strength. The hand flattened across his palm, holding his hand in a sick parody of middle-school romance.

His panicked mind flashed to the knife again and he tried to prepare himself for what he knew was coming. He wondered if it was even possible. He bucked again, only to find he couldn't move an inch.

The sharp blade bit into his skin near his palm and he felt the sudden tearing pain as his assailant dragged it up his wrist. His mother's pretty face flicked through his mind, and he felt sick, knowing he was feeling exactly what her final sensations had been. He felt his own hot blood pulsing from the wound and mentally begged for it to be over soon. _Please no, please no, please no. No, no, no, no. _

It wasn't over.

The cutter had moved to his damaged right hand, and Tony barely felt the agony of the strong hand straightening his injured fingers. He waited for the pain of the blade again, and it came quickly, slicing him open and freeing the blood sent pounding through his veins by his racing heart.

He peeked out to try to see anything that would tell him who was doing this to him. _Why? _The sickening realization hit him that it wouldn't matter. He was going to die. He would bleed out right here before anyone could come help him.

He felt the warmth of the growing pools under his wrists and the weakness of the blood loss just as his attackers freed him. He tried to get up but found himself too weak to rise. His right arm flopped uselessly, banging his bruised knuckles on the floor in a final, painful insult to injury. The blindfold and gag stayed in place, and he wondered what kind of people could just stand there and watch him bleed to death.

His eyes slipped closed under the dark fabric, and he saw the faces of his team. His chest tightened with pain and fear and overwhelming sorrow. He tried to imagine their reactions, but it was just too painful and horrifying. He couldn't inflict that much pain on his family, even in his head.

The mere thought of them sent rage surging through his rapidly weakening body. _Get up, DiNozzo. Goddamn it, get up. _

But he couldn't. He simply had lost too much blood to the ever-widening pools under his wrists. He felt himself sinking again, and he knew it would be over soon. He felt the gag and blindfold being removed, but he lacked the strength to force his eyes open. His attackers left him then, and he fought the irrational, heartbreaking longing for them to stay.

He knew he was going to die.

He just didn't want to die alone.


	19. Chapter 19

**Present**

"I'm sorry, Agent Gibbs," Vance said from the screen, not sounding terribly contrite. "I gave you a chance to investigate. That's what you asked for. I need your team here."

Gibbs fumed. They had gotten absolutely nowhere with their random interview blitz, and now time was up. "My team is needed here. Were you not listening to me? Someone threatened him, _Director_."

"And I can show you a file full of threats against agents, Gibbs. It doesn't prove anything. You've exhausted your leads. It's over."

"We have _not_ exhausted every lead. There are still people to talk to out here." _I'm going to interview every last soul on this ship if I have to._

Vance glowered. "Listen, here's the deal. Leave one of your people on the ship to finish the interviews with viable suspects. The rest of you are coming back immediately."

"I don't think—"

"I don't care, Gibbs. Take it or leave it."

Gibbs let out a long breath. "Fine. But he's coming home with me."

Vance waved a hand. "Fine. As long as the doctors agree he can be moved."

"They will."

The feed went blank and Gibbs could feel all of their eyes on him. Abby moved beside him and he looped an arm around her, pulling her trembling body close. His eyes met McGee's over her shoulder and Gibbs saw the pleading in them as clearly as if he'd spoken.

Ziva apparently saw it, too, because she said, "I will stay, Gibbs. I can finish the remaining interviews here, with the entire ship if I have to. You take him home."

Gibbs smiled as her words mirrored his earlier thoughts. "Thank you, Ziva," he said sincerely. "I'm going to talk with his doctor. The rest of you get ready to leave. We're shipping out shortly."

* * *

Ziva approached her partner's still form and bit her lip. She did not touch him, but her eyes never left his face as she spoke softly.

"This is goodbye, Tony. But just for a little while. You are going home, and I am sure that Abby and Ducky and everyone will take good care of you. I am staying here to find out who did this to you. But if I find nothing, Tony, believe me, I will do everything I can to help you get through this. There is a very big part of me that cannot believe you could have done this to yourself. But I also have seen a lot of senseless things in my life. Either way, I am here for you. I expect you to be awake when I see you next.

"Please, Tony. I really would like for you to wake up."

* * *

The preparations and flights passed in a blur of exhausted activity for most of the team, except Tony, who showed no signs of waking. Upon arrival on dry land, Gibbs immediately ordered Abby and McGee to go home and get some sleep, telling them he didn't want to see them for at least a day.

Ducky met Gibbs at Bethesda, and while Tony was being settled into a private room, the doctor tried to give the same orders to Jethro. Gibbs was having none of it, though, and soon found himself at his agent's bedside with Ducky settled nearby.

"How did we get here, Duck?" Gibbs asked tiredly. Before Ducky could answer, he continued. "I feel like we were just burying Jenny, like we just got the call from his doctor, like we were just on the ship."

Ducky gave his old friend a concerned look. It wasn't like Jethro to be so open—at least not with someone else present. But then, Tony wasn't really present—and that was the problem. "Life can change in the blink of an eye, Jethro. We both know that well."

There was a long silence, and Ducky sensed the question before Gibbs could even open his mouth to ask it.

"Why isn't he waking up?" Gibbs asked finally, needing to know but afraid of the answer.

"He lost a lot of blood," Ducky said, the physician in him itching to examine Tony's wounds. But he knew he couldn't do that to Gibbs. The bandages were bad enough; he didn't think seeing the damage beneath them would be good for the lead agent. "They replaced the lost fluids with transfusions, but his body needs time to heal. He's been through an extremely traumatic shock."

"Is he ever going to come out of this?" Gibbs asked, hating the tremor in his tired voice. "Will he be the same DiNozzo we knew before?"

"His brain functions all look very promising," Ducky said, concentrating on the physical—because the psychological was just too much to deal with after a very long couple of days. "But really the only way to know is for him to wake up. You need to give him time, Jethro. I know patience isn't your strong suit, but in this case, it's the only way."

Gibbs was silent, watching his agent's soft breathing until his own eyes closed. Ducky watched him sleep and stood, moving quietly to take Tony's hand in his. He frowned at the restraints the medical staff had insisted upon reapplying.

"Oh, my dear Anthony," he said, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he finally got to touch the young man who had so dominated his thoughts lately. "What have you done to yourself? That's not entirely fair, though, I suppose. I know about the note you received. How terribly frightening that must have been. Why in the world wouldn't you report that, my boy? Though I'm not terribly surprised, given your well-documented disregard for your own safety.

"I remember the first time I stitched you up down in autopsy. You'd been with the agency maybe a month and had gotten yourself sliced open by a madman while protecting the man's young daughter. I knew you were a special person when Gibbs himself commented on your bravery. Though he may have phrased it a bit differently. 'Damn fool doesn't know when to be afraid.' Yes, I think that was it. But at any rate, you were sitting there on my table, bleeding quite profusely, but you wouldn't let me near you until I had thoroughly washed all of my equipment in front of you. You didn't want anything that had been inside a dead body touching you."

Ducky's smile faded and he sighed heavily. "I really wish you would open your eyes, my dear boy. It's no fun sharing stories with someone who cannot hear me. Although, I should be used to it. I tell stories to people who aren't listening all the time. I just don't want to count you among those poor souls. Please come back to us, Anthony. We need you here."

* * *

_He was in the interrogation room, lying flat on his back on the table and staring at t__he ceiling. He felt the sharp claws of guilt slashing their way through his gut; one more swipe and they'd sever his spinal cord, he just knew it. He raised his hands up to his head and tried to remember what he'd done to feel this way. Why it felt like burning regret had replaced the blood in his veins and now seared through him like fire. Why he felt like he'd done something unspeakable; he _was_ in an interrogation room, after all. Why he felt like he'd lost something vital and precious. _

_Why it hurt so much. _

_The first drop of blood hit him in the face, startling open eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed. The sight of the long hideous wounds in his wrists made him cry out in shock and fear, and the pain followed close on their heels, like a yippy little dog. The dog grew fangs, though, and was suddenly a black beast snarling at him from the corner of the room. _

_'Damn fool doesn't know when to be afraid.'_

_The words whispered their way through the walls, and he struggled to recognize the voice over the dog's vicious, enraged howling. The fiend was railing against its restraint with the furious force of a hurricane. He watched it warily, waiting for it to break free of its chains and devour him. The endless growls echoed around in his head, drowning out the soft voices from beyond the window. _

_He stood suddenly, aware of the blood pouring from his open wounds but not caring one bit. He turned dark eyes to the black dog. _

_"Shut it," he barked, surprised to hear Gibbs' voice coming out of his mouth. _

_The dog shrank back, its spit-flecked lips closing over the razor-sharp teeth. It whimpered softly, turned in circles and curled pitifully in its corner, looking up at him with suddenly sad eyes._

_He smiled. _

_Shock slapped the smile from his face when he turned and found himself again facing his own personal army of the dead. They crawled through the mirror, their hellish shrieking muting the soft, soothing voice with a cacophony of horror. They reached out rotting hands, gripping his wounded wrists and pulling him down, down, down..._


	20. Chapter 20

When Tony awoke later that night, he came up fighting.

And Gibbs was infinitely grateful that he had stayed despite his exhaustion and happened to be in the room when he did.

Coincidences, no. Sheer dumb luck? Sure.

_Whatever works,_ Gibbs thought as he grabbed the nearest arm, which was flailing with such strength against the restraint that Gibbs almost forgot the injured man had lain unconscious for nearly a week.

"Stop fighting me, DiNozzo. Stop," he said, his relief at finally seeing those familiar green eyes tempered by the fear that Tony would reopen the wounds in his wrists.

Tony's arms were strong as he fought the firm but gentle grip Gibbs had on him, but his voice was weak with disuse. All Gibbs could hear over his and his agent's panting was Tony's frantic, hoarsely whispered string of "Let me go. Let me go. Let me go."

Gibbs' soft reassurances weren't cutting through Tony's panic so he barked a "Knock it off, DiNozzo!"

Tony stopped struggling immediately and blinked sleepily at his boss. "Hi Gibbs."

The lead agent grinned in sheer relief. "Hi yourself, DiNozzo. You scared the hell out of us."

Tony regarded him with troubled eyes for a long moment, during which Gibbs felt cold fear curl through his gut. He prepared himself for Tony to tell him he'd done this to himself, that he'd wanted to die. Maybe still did.

"Sorry about that, Boss," Tony said, his hoarseness muting whatever emotion was in those words that crushed the small amount of hope Gibbs had left.

"But they didn't really give me much of a say in the matter."

Gibbs felt like dancing with joy but he settled for a contented sigh and a "Hell, DiNozzo. I've been waiting all week to hear you say that."

Tony's eyes went wide. "You thought…? You really thought I'd…? That I could…?"

Gibbs knew the wounded sound of betrayal when he heard it. "No. Yes. I don't know. The, uh, method was bothering me. If they'd put a gun to your head, I think I might have believed it," he finished softly, feeling suddenly shamed that he'd ever even doubted his friend.

Tony seemed to mull that over for a moment. His voice was still scratchy and soft, but there was something else in it that Gibbs couldn't—wouldn't?—identify when he said, "They used the knife you gave me, Gibbs. How could you think I'd ever do that to you?"

Gibbs put his head in his hands, unable to meet Tony's anguished eyes any longer. "Hell, Tony. That was the first thing that made me think maybe Abby was right and you didn't. She's been in absolute hell, you know, with the back and forth of it all. But she never really gave up on you."

Gibbs looked up to find Tony staring at him, his pale face completely closed and blank.

"Damn. I didn't mean for it to sound like that," Gibbs said, realizing what he'd insinuated. "I know none of this is your fault. But while you were out, we just didn't know. There was no way to know anything for certain."

"You know me," Tony said quietly, driving a stake through Gibbs' battered heart.

Gibbs closed his eyes. "I know," he said. "That should have been enough. I'm sorry, Tony. I really am."

Tony didn't speak. He mostly just looked exhausted, and Gibbs knew he shouldn't push him just yet, but he had to know. "Why didn't you report that threat to the captain?"

Tony blinked slowly, as if he were having trouble remembering, and Gibbs felt like even more of a bastard for not letting him get the rest he obviously needed. He should probably be dragging a doctor in here to make sure he was really okay.

But then Tony said, "It was slipped under my door the night before they… the night before. I was going to call the captain about it, but Benny showed up and I didn't want to put him in danger so I hid it. I planned to see Captain Fordham in the morning." His voice was cracking from disuse, but he finished with a bitter "So much for that."

Gibbs nodded. "I wondered if you meant to put it in Palamar's file or not."

"That where it ended up?" Tony asked. He lifted a shoulder and yawned.

Gibbs nodded again. "Yeah. I almost threw him overboard, cocky little snot. But he couldn't have done it. His alibi was rock solid."

Tony looked troubled again for a moment. His voice was weak and pained, and it tore Gibbs' heart out when he asked, "So you don't know who did this to me?"

Gibbs put his hand on the rail of the bed. "Not yet. But believe me, I'm going to find these bastards and make them pay."

Tony lifted a bandaged hand and covered Gibbs'. The older man tried not to wince at the rough gauze as he realized they still had a long way to go—in finding the attackers _and_ helping Tony get through this.

"I know you will."

Gibbs swallowed hard, trying to take everything in and readjust to this new reality. He saw Tony doing the same and realized he was staring at the restraints encircling his wrists with a kind of shocked fascination.

Tony drew a shuddering breath and looked up at Gibbs, his distressed eyes filled with pain and fear and sadness. "Get them off? Please, Gibbs? Get them off?"

Gibbs drew his knife and sliced straight through the restraints, wincing at Tony's flinch as the blade passed near his wrists. "Damn, I'm sorry, Tony. I should have warned you. And what the hell am I thinking? Are you in pain? I'm sorry. I'll get a doctor."

"Gibbs, wait."

The agent turned back, unable to read Tony's expression.

"Can you stop apologizing?" Tony asked quietly. "It's freaking me out."

"Sure, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, reverting back to last names, knowing it would make Tony feel better. Hell, he'd do anything right now if it would take away an ounce of his friend's suffering.

Gibbs dragged the nearest doctor into the room and left to give them some privacy as the doctor asked Tony what year it was and other fun facts. He needed to make some phone calls. It was nearly four in the morning, but he pulled out his cell anyway.

Abby answered on the first ring. "Oh my god, Gibbs, please tell me he's okay."

Gibbs smiled. "He's awake."


	21. Chapter 21

Gibbs returned to the room as the doctor was leaving.

"He's all right?"

The doctor nodded. "He's doing fine, neurologically. No memory loss, no confusion. He's still very weak from the blood loss and shock. There's no damage to the underlying tendons in his wrists, even though the wounds are deep. He's in some pain, but that's to be expected with the severity of his injuries, and I just doped him up so don't be worried if he's sleepy when you go in there."

"Thank you," Gibbs said sincerely. "When can he go home?"

The doctor frowned. "A couple of days. His body has been through a massive shock, and I'd like to keep an eye on him." He paused, looking into Gibbs' eyes. "You're close to him, right? I mean, he listens to you?"

Gibbs smiled despite his exhaustion. "I'm his boss. He listens to me."

"I need to splint his wrists so he doesn't accidentally tear the stitches. His wounds are still very fragile right now. But he won't let me. Threatened to sign himself out AMA if I touched him. Could you…?"

Gibbs turned on his heel and marched into the room, where Tony was lying quietly, maybe sleeping. Just the sight of him so still again and with his eyes closed sent a tremor through Gibbs' entire being.

"DiNozzo!" he barked, forcing his expression neutral even as Tony visibly started.

"Yeah Boss?" he asked, his voice still weak and scratchy.

"What's with the splints?"

"I… I don't want them," Tony said, not meeting Gibbs' eyes.

"Why not?"

"Sign of weakness?" Tony ventured tiredly.

"No, it's not. But you will be weak if you rip those stitches out and start bleeding again," Gibbs said, moving closer and lowering his voice. "Tony, listen to me. Let him splint your wrists. I just got you back. I'm not losing you again."

Tony sighed. "You're fighting dirty, Boss."

The corner of Gibbs' mouth quirked up at that. "Yup. You gonna let him do this?"

Tony nodded and the doctor, who had been watching the exchange with interest, turned to leave.

As soon as he was gone, Gibbs looked down into Tony's eyes and asked softly, "Why the fight about it, DiNozzo?"

Tony took a deep breath, wincing at the stab of pain in his ribs. He'd almost forgotten about _those_ injuries. "I… Gibbs, I…" He looked away. "I don't want to see it. I don't wanna see what they did."

"Hell, Tony," Gibbs said, squeezing his shoulder as the doctor returned. "You look at me, then, okay?"

Gibbs held Tony's eyes while the doctor made quick work of the task, sliding the splints on gently and then rewrapping the entire mess. The doctor just seemed to know what Gibbs slowly realized: Even though Tony hadn't inflicted the wounds on himself, he was still deeply upset—perhaps even shamed—by them. The doctor murmured his thanks and left the room. Gibbs watched Tony alternately watch him and blink sleepily.

"You look like hell, Boss," Tony finally said. "Go home. You don't have to stay."

Gibbs shook his head. "No way, DiNozzo. You're stuck with me."

Tony sighed, closing his eyes again, feeling the effects of the drugs. He was immensely grateful for them for once since they had taken the tearing pain from his damaged wrists. He could almost pretend he was lying there with a concussion or something—anything as long as it wasn't the awful truth he couldn't quite block from his mind. Just the thought of that hand, holding his down, sent shivers down his spine. He forced his eyes open, feeling almost giddy at the sight of Gibbs by his side.

"I missed you so much, Boss," he said without thinking, his cheeks burning as he realized he sounded like a whiny little kid.

Gibbs just smiled, waiting for the drug-induced loopiness to ensue. He was surprised to find himself upset when it never came.

"I missed you, too, DiNozzo," Gibbs said quietly. "And I know I said I'd stop apologizing, but I am sorry that I couldn't be there to watch your back. I mean that."

Tony smiled around a yawn. " 'S okay. Vance probably would have noticed if you'd taken an extended vacation out to Club Seahawk."

Gibbs grinned, his relief at seeing a glimpse of the old Tony after all the pain and uncertainty overriding his tiredness. "Get some sleep, Tony. That's an order."

* * *

Abby burst into the room the next day around noon, suddenly realizing why Gibbs and Ducky had insisted they all wait to visit. Tony looked exhausted; she could see it in his eyes. But those eyes were open, and it sent her spirits soaring again just to be able to look into those green orbs that had been haunting her dreams. She had been forewarned about the splints on his wrists so she barely noticed them. What she did notice was that the horrible restraints were gone.

"Tony," she breathed into his neck as he lifted up to hug her back. She moved gently out of his embrace, being careful not to jar his wrists.

"Hey, McGoo," Tony said, watching relief wash over the younger man's face at the nickname.

"Welcome back, Tony," McGee said, trying not to look at his partner's wrists. He couldn't imagine how Tony was feeling right now so he decided to do what he thought was right: Treat him as normally as possible.

"Anthony, my boy," Ducky said, his hand on Tony's shoulder. "I must admit, you gave us quite a scare."

"I'm sorry, Ducky," Tony said quietly.

"Nonsense, lad," Ducky said, blinking back sudden tears at Tony's subdued apology. "None of this is your fault. Just know that we are all immensely grateful that you are all right, and we are all glad to have to you back with us. Not that we're happy about the circumstances, but that couldn't be helped. You're here with us now, and that is what's important."

"Thanks, Ducky," Tony said, looking around, dismayed at how tired he was already. _Damn blood loss, damn painkillers. _But he decided he'd deal with the bone-deep exhaustion if the meds kept the horrific pain at bay. A thought suddenly occurred to his foggy brain as he realized something. "Where's Ziva?"

"Still on the Seahawk," Gibbs said, and Tony could see the questions in his eyes. DiNozzo was actually fairly shocked at how long Gibbs had lasted; he knew the agent was probably crawling out of his skin with impatience to hear the details of the attack—to start trying to find those attackers.

"I talked to her this morning," McGee said. "She really is interviewing _everyone_ on that ship."

Tony looked around at the tired faces of his team and tried not to feel guilty—especially when he thought of Ziva stuck on that ship because of him. He locked eyes with Gibbs. "Can we just do this, Boss? Now?"

Gibbs nodded and threw a meaningful look to Ducky, who took Abby's arm gently. "Come, my dear. Let's go get something to eat. You've probably had nothing today but that overly caffeinated swill you so enjoy."

"But I…" Abby began to protest.

"Abby, please," Tony said softly before Gibbs could even open his mouth. "You don't want to hear this. Hell, _I_ don't want to either, but I don't really have a choice."

"Okay, Tony," Abby said, the faint hurt in her eyes tearing Tony's heart out. "But I can come back later, right?"

"Of course, Abbs. I'd be upset if you didn't."

Abby's eyes widened a bit at her friend's uncharacteristic openness. She murmured a goodbye and let Ducky lead her from the room.

Tony watched McGee pat her arm as she left from his place by the door. "You can come closer, Probie. I won't bite. I might have taken a swim in blood recently, but I'm not a vampire."

McGee tried to smile even as Tony's words unwittingly called up Benny's heartbreaking story. He moved closer to Tony's bed, taking a seat next to Gibbs. "They called you 'Agent DiRacula,' " he blurted, then shot an apologetic glance at Gibbs, expecting a headslap. Gibbs just gave him a warning look.

Tony surprised him by giving him a half-smile. "I know. I never told Abby. She would like that."

Gibbs looked uncomfortable suddenly, and Tony gave him a questioning look.

"Tony, I need to tell you. Abby gave me your letters. It was when we didn't know if you'd…"

Tony just shrugged. "It's okay. I'd have done the same, I guess." He suddenly blushed bright red. "She gave you all of them? Then you know about when I—"

"DiNozzo," Gibbs cut him off, holding up a hand. "I'm still actively forgetting I ever read that."

Tony smiled at the bewildered expression on the probie's face, but it faded as he noticed Gibbs watching him expectantly—and with a touch of concern. He decided to just jump right in. "I wasn't sleeping much out there. I was having nightmares and just generally feeling like crap," Tony admitted, hissing in pain as he wiped a hand over his face. "Ow, shit that hurts."

Gibbs didn't move but he was intently watching Tony's face. McGee looked ready to puke—or run for the door.

Tony ignored them both and continued. "I can imagine what you all must have thought, reading those letters and hearing people call me that. But I didn't do this to myself, and you need to hear about what they… what happened… that night."

Gibbs studied him, his icy blue eyes boring wells into his very soul. Tony feared he'd start hemorrhaging Texas gold if his boss didn't let up soon.

"We don't have to do this right now, Tony. Not if you're not ready."

Tony raised an eyebrow at that. "Really Gibbs? 'Cause you're starting to twitch over there, and I doubt it's the caffeine since you've only had two today."

Gibbs marveled at his agent's perception, even in his fragile state. He couldn't help himself. "I really missed you, DiNozzo." He wasn't sure whose mouth dropped farther open between his two agents. "Start talking," he added gruffly.

Tony nodded slowly, watching McGee's eyes flit to the door. "Got a hot date, Probie?"

McGee's eyes snapped back to his partner. "No, I… I just…"

"Developed a stuttering problem over the summer? I knew cyber crimes would undo everything we've worked on."

"Tony," McGee said softly. "I just don't want to make you uncomfortable. I can go if you want."

Tony gave him a look. "McGee, I'm wearing an assless dishrag. Comfort has left the building."

Gibbs hid a grin behind his hand, but frowned when he saw Tony's face change. "What is it, Tony? Are you okay?"

Tony shook his head slowly and took a deep breath. "This is going to be a bit anti-climactic, Gibbs. There's really nothing to tell. I was dreaming, and I woke up to them holding me down on the floor in my office. I don't how they got in. I remember thinking about that threat and locking the door." His eyes were unnervingly blank when he looked at Gibbs and said, "They cut me. I fought like hell, but there were three of them holding me down and I couldn't move. I'm guessing there were three. I was blindfolded and gagged. There could have been more. I just don't know."

"They blindfolded you," Gibbs said thoughtfully. "But you knew what knife they used."

Tony nodded. "I could see a sliver down my right side. All I saw was the knife, a hand and someone's pants. No shoes, no tattoos. Nothing helpful."

"Why would they blindfold you?" McGee asked, looking ponderous. "Maybe they weren't trying to kill you?"

Tony shook his head. "Nah. Safety first, as they say," he said bitterly, trying not to look down at his bandaged, splinted wrists. They were beginning to burn again. "They were probably just being extra careful. I would have been a goner if not for Benny. Hey, about Benny. I wonder what he's making for dinner tonight. Has anyone told him I'm all right?"

Gibbs nodded, surprising McGee. "I got word to the ship. For the captain and Benny's ears only. I don't want someone coming after you here."

Tony blinked in surprise. "You think this is that far-reaching?"

"Never know, DiNozzo. I'm not taking any chances. You're with one of us until we find out who did this."

Tony groaned and it had nothing to do with the building fire in his wrists. "Protection detail? Seriously, Boss?"

"Yes, DiNozzo," Gibbs said firmly. "No arguments."

Tony thought about protesting, but he was tired and in pain so he finished catching them up on his last days on the ship, ending with, "I was going to start looking into how Palamar was beating the drug tests. You know the rest."

"I'll get Ziva to start investigating that angle," Gibbs said, nodding. "That should buy her a few more days on the ship." He saw Tony watching him intently. "What?"

"Do you think she's okay out there alone?" Tony asked quietly, and Gibbs picked up on the pain in his voice. It was time to wrap this up and let him rest.

"She'll be fine. I know the agent they reassigned to fill your position. He'll watch her back."

Tony looked relieved. McGee took his cue from the pointed look Gibbs gave him and left. Tony watched him go and then said quietly, "Boss, my—"

Gibbs nodded. "I know. I'm going to get your doctor."


	22. Chapter 22

Ziva ran.

She was frustrated and tired, and feeling thoroughly jittery with cabin fever. So she ran. A treadmill was never her first choice as she preferred to run outside and be able to feel the breeze, the sun—even the rain. At least it felt real. This, the endlessly looping belt beneath her feet in the stale-smelling gym, it just felt wrong. She wondered if Tony had ever thought the same things.

_It is enough to drive a person crazy_, she thought, wincing before the sentiment was even fully formed. _He did not hurt himself. You know that now._

She had never been so relieved in her life, and she wondered if she should feel guilty that she was as happy that Tony had not done this to himself as she was that she had not been wrong in judging him. As she had told Gibbs, reading people was essential in Mossad. It was not a skill easily learned and it was not a defense easily lost.

So she had been relieved when Gibbs had gotten word to her that Tony was awake and while he was still weak and upset about the attack, he was going to be all right. Then all she had to do was tell the captain and Benny—and find the scum who had done that horrible thing to him. She had spoken with the captain and then gone to interview Petty Officer Hannah Squire.

"_Thank you for seeing me. I am sure you heard about Agent DiNozzo."_

_Squire nodded, her big blue eyes wide. "It's just so awful. He was so kind to me after Eddie… Well, after Eddie and I…"_

_Ziva flipped through the file again at her words, her hesitation. She read between the lines in Tony's notes and arrived at the same conclusion: All was not as it seemed between the two sailors. She could practically see DiNozzo's frustration at not being able to do anything about it, though. _

"_Daly raped you, did he not?" Ziva asked, her bluntness widening Squire's eyes even more. _

_The petty officer sighed. She looked at her hands, the wall behind Ziva's head, her feet, back at her hands. Then she looked up and met Ziva's eyes. "No, he didn't. And I thought you were here to talk about Agent DiNozzo?"_

_Ziva ground her teeth in frustration. Why would the woman not just admit what had happened? Why take the punishment for something that had been done _to_ her? She shoved those thoughts aside and asked, "Can you tell me how Agent DiNozzo acted during your conversation with him? Did he seem upset? Angry?"_

_Squire wouldn't meet Ziva's eyes, something Ziva could not figure out for the life of her. What could she possibly have to be ashamed about in describing Tony's mental state?_

"_He was mostly just really nice to me," she finally said. "He was angry with Eddie when he called me a whore, and I realized just how scary he could be. I knew he was an agent, but I'd never seen that side of him before… Not that I saw him much. But it was frightening."_

_Ziva mulled that over, knowing that Squire was right. DiNozzo did not get angry often, but when he did, he projected a dark intensity that could scare even Ziva. But none of this was helpful. The case was no longer about Tony's state of mind—it was about who had tried to kill him. And Daly was off the ship at the time of the attack, and while Ziva thought Squire was lying, she did not think it was related to the attempted murder. _

Ziva slammed a hand against the console of the treadmill, reflecting on her earlier frustrations with Squire's self-imposed silence. But, like Tony, there was nothing she could do about it if the woman refused to call it rape.

Ziva made her way back to what she still thought of as Tony's office since she had commandeered it as her own—and her bunk. She had slept on his cot the night before, catching a faint whiff of his scent as she drifted off to sleep and realizing how much she had missed their teasing banter these last few months. At least tonight she could go to sleep not worrying about whether or not he would ever wake up to tease her again.

After taking a quick shower and getting dressed, Ziva realized she had missed dinner and was starved. Thinking about what McGee had told her about Benny, the amiable young cook who suffered from insomnia, she made her way to the kitchen, happy that she got lost only once and could use the opportunity to kill two birds with one rock.

She was not surprised to find Benny stirring a pot on the stove. The big man jumped about a mile at her soft hello. He turned with a sheepish grin. "Um, can I help you?"

"I am Ziva David, NCIS," she said, sniffing appreciatively at whatever it was that smelled so delicious.

"Well I'm kinda screwed then, aren't I? I'm also Benny, by the way." He cocked his head to the side. "I never thought midnight snacks were a big enough offense to send a big bad NCIS agent after me, though."

Ziva smiled, wondering if she should let him hang for a moment but deciding against it, remembering that he still did not know that Tony was going to be all right. "Technically, I am not an agent. I am a liaison officer of Mossad."

"Oh crap," Benny said, his eyes wide. "I don't think 'screwed' was a strong enough term for what I am right now."

Ziva laughed, seeing for herself why McGee and Abby seemed so enamored with the man. "You do not have to worry about me," she said, watching him relax at her words. "Anyone who is a friend of Tony's is a friend of mine."

She watched his face fall at the sound of Tony's name. "Well, then, Ziva," he said, trying to smile and not quite accomplishing the task, "can I bribe your silence with a bowl of soup?"

Her eyes lit up. "I would like that very much. I am so hungry I could eat a house."

Benny smiled, getting it right this time. "Horse," he corrected simply, reminding her so strongly of Tony that she winced. He handed her a steaming bowl and she took it and sat at a long counter.

She took a spoonful and closed her eyes in delight. It tasted as wonderful as it smelled. "This is very, very good, Benny."

She watched as his smile faded and a deep sadness took up residence in his soulful dark eyes. "I made it for Tony one night. It was right after he got the crap kicked out of him by that drugged maniac. He ate it left-handed because his right one was so swollen. I could tell he was really hurting, but he was so enthusiastic about my stupid soup."

Ziva set her spoon down. "He is awake," she said softly, watching relief evict the pain from his brown gaze.

"Really?" Benny said, dropping his own spoon into the soup with a splash. "And he's okay? He's all there? He's the same Tony? Goofy, crazy, funny, badass Tony?"

Ziva grinned, nodding. "He is all there. The same Tony."

Benny sighed in pure relief. "Oh, man, that's so good to hear. I've been thinking about him a lot ever since— Wait. Did he…? I mean… his wrists… that knife… Did he?"

"He did not," Ziva said softly. "Someone attacked him, but we do not yet know who. We are going to keep it quiet that he is awake and talking, just in case, though."

Benny nodded. "Of course. Sure. Oh man, I am so relieved. I mean, it's not good that someone tried to kill him, obviously," he said, blushing under Ziva's intense gaze. "But just knowing that he didn't do that to himself. That he didn't… Oh man, that's so good to hear. I'm rambling, I'm sorry."

"Do not worry about it," Ziva said, remembering what Abby had said about his sharing her home state. "I know someone else from Louisiana and she happens to go on a bit, as well. I have become used to it."

They spent the next hour eating and talking, and Ziva went to sleep that night feeling calmer at having gotten a glimpse at the kind soul who had been so good to Tony when he had needed a friend.

* * *

Abby, Ducky and McGee visited with Tony for a while before Ducky had to return to the Navy Yard. Gibbs went home for a much-needed nap, content that Tony wouldn't be alone. Abby talked a mile a minute, catching Tony up on all the latest news. He mostly just listened, too tired to contribute much but thoroughly happy to be in the company of his friends again.

McGee stepped out after a while to get coffee, and Abby suddenly stopped her rambling as she found them alone for the first time since he'd come around.

"How are you, Tony, really?" she implored, holding his bandaged hand and looking into his eyes. "What they did to you… and with your mother…"

Tony sighed, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat—both from thoughts of his mother and the gentle concern in Abby's eyes. "I've been better, Abbs. I could do without knowing what my mom's last moments were like. When I was lying there, bleeding like that, thinking I was going to die… I thought of you, the team. Now it just makes me wonder if she thought about me when she knew it was over."

Tears instantly fell like compassionate rain from Abby's stormy eyes. "Of course she did, Tony. I don't know how she could have done that to you, but she must have been in a lot of pain to leave you behind. You're amazing, DiNozzo, and don't you forget that. You're strong and kind and funny and loyal… and not to mention, well, you're ten kinds of hot, my friend."

Tony smiled softly, but his voice was shaky. "I don't feel so strong right now, Abbs."

She smiled, wiping away her tears and putting her damp hand against his rough cheek. "Then don't be. Not right now. Let us be strong for you. That's what we're here for. We're here for you."

Tony blinked back tears at her soft words and glanced toward the door, hoping McGee would take his time.

"And I'm sorry, Tony," Abby said, looking away. "I'm so sorry we ever doubted you. That we ever thought you could have done this to yourself. To us."

Tony still wasn't sure how he felt about that, but it was killing him to see Abby suffering so he just said, "It's okay, Abby. You know now."

They were still silent when McGee returned, and Abby looked at her skull watch. "Ugh. I've really got to get back. I wish I could stay."

"Don't worry about it, Abbs," Tony said, sounding tired. "I'm about to be really boring company anyway."

She gave him a grin and a gentle hug, and then left the room with a backwards wave. "Bye, guys!"

DiNozzo and McGee just looked at each other for a long moment before Tony asked, "So how's your sex life been, Probie?"

McGee blinked in shock. "What? What's that got..."

Tony grinned despite his tiredness. "I just wanted to see if this could get any more awkward. I guess it can. Did? Is? Sorry, Probie. I blame the drugs."

McGee smiled, shaking his head. "I really did miss you, DiNozzo. And while we're still in full-on awkward mode, I should probably admit that I told you I hated you while you were unconscious. Nice, I know. And I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

"I'm having deja vu," Tony said, watching McGee's eyes. He noted the concern in them and felt bad all over again for putting them all through hell. He should have been more careful after getting that damned threat. A thought suddenly occurred to his foggy brain. "I know how they got in."

"What?"

Tony bit his lip. _Oops. Why the hell did I start this conversation? And with McGoo? I'm so tired..._

"Uh, I know how they got in. But I'm not telling."

McGee cocked his head to the side, regarding his partner with confusion. "Are you okay?"

"Nope."

"You're kind of scaring me," McGee admitted, wondering if he should get a doctor. _Severe blood loss could cause brain damage, right?_

"Sorry."

"DiNozzo, speak. More than one-word answers. You can't just drop that on me and then nod off. I know you're tired. But too bad."

"You've been working on your Gibbs."

"Quit deflecting."

Tony sighed. "Okay, this is really embarrassing, but whatever. We've done awkward, we'll do deep now. I was really fucked up out there, McGee. I don't do alone and guilty and abandoned very well. It's kind of ironic that they tried to off me like this. Who knows? Maybe I would have done it myself eventually anyway and saved them the trouble. The nightmares were awful. I woke up screaming more nights than not. Benny, you know about Benny, right? Yeah, well, he heard me one night. Talk about awkward. It gets better, though. He found me puking my guts out one night after I dreamed Gibbs killed me. It was after I broke up those two idiots and got the crap pounded out of me, and he was being so nice and I was an ass, which is how I usually respond to kindness. _That's _another conversation entirely, though, and ... McGee? What was I talking about?"

McGee almost smiled, but DiNozzo's complete dropping of his normally iron-clad guard was scaring him too much. He wondered if he should call Gibbs. Or if it was just the drugs. "You know how they got in." Something clicked in his head. "When Benny found you, that was the night you were attacked. That's how they got in. You didn't lock the door when you left to go to the head. They got in while you were gone and you locked them in with you."

McGee shuddered, both at that unnerving realization and the thought of Tony upset enough to drop his guard like that.

"Wow," Tony said bitterly, deciding McGee's version worked just fine. He didn't want to bring up his half-drunk midnight workout session if he didn't have to. He had still left the door unlocked. "This is my fault. How could I be so stupid?"

"This is _not_ your fault, Tony," McGee said firmly. "Stop. This is good. There's not much space to hide in that office. It must have been someone pretty small to have crammed himself into that little storage closet... Or a woman," he added, thoughtfully.

Tony gave McGee a sad, tired little smile that about broke the younger agent's heart. "Thanks for being my brain, Probie. It really is like old times."

McGee reached out and covered DiNozzo's hand with his, not feeling even remotely awkward about the contact. "Anytime, Tony. Get some sleep. We can talk more later."


	23. Chapter 23

Gibbs sat later that night watching Tony sleep. His afternoon break to go home for a shower and a nap had left him wide awake even though it was almost midnight. He realized that the scene looked exactly the same as the previous nights, but it _felt_ so much different. Gone were the gut-wrenching fears that Tony might never wake up, that he might wake up impaired or unrecognizable in some way. Gibbs shoved that thought straight out of his head, and he focused on the calm he felt knowing that Tony was safe and that he hadn't tried to kill himself.

Gibbs shook his head suddenly, chiding himself for being glad that Tony had been attacked and nearly killed. But as awful as it was, it was better than the alternative.

The calm left Gibbs as he starting thinking about the long road ahead of them. And not just in finding who had done this, even though McGee had told him about their small breakthrough. His real discomfort came from the realization that while his nightmare was finally over, Tony's was just beginning. He'd been in a bad place before the brutal attack, and it would be just that much harder to get him through the aftermath.

* * *

_He was lying flat on his back in a tiny little boat, adrift upon an obsidian sea. Cold moonlight washed over him, leaving him chilled and feeling completely alone—even the stars had deserted him. His only warmth came from the hot red blood pulsing from the long gashes in his wrists. He sat up slowly, awaiting pain that never came. He didn't feel anything but the icy cold in his floating state. _

_He dipped his wrists overboard to wash the blood away and looked around to find he'd turned the ocean red with his bleeding. The pain may have run off and hid, but its constant companion weakness seemed to have moved in with every intention of putting down roots in his tired body. _

_He sank back down, letting his mind go blank, and for a long while, he felt nothing but the soft rocking of his little boat. He felt warm after a while and opened his eyes to realize his blood had filled the vessel. He found his mother floating opposite him the gory bath, her dead eyes green mirrors of his own as she stared lifelessly at him. _

_His gasp at seeing her carried over the gentle sounds of lapping water, breaking the calm—and apparently awakening his personal legion of the dead. Their voices carried across the vastness of the sea as they closed in, circling like a school of spectral sharks. Hands began popping up to grip the sides of his boat, and he began to shake as they lay claim to his peace, his comfort, his very soul. _

_"Go away." _

_His mouth formed the words, but no sounds emerged, and he simply lacked the strength to try again. His mother's mouth opened as if a reflexive reaction to his own movements. She leaned forward, gripping his gushing wrists with similar ones torn open by her own hands._

_When she spoke, it was Abby's voice that spilled from her soft dead lips. _

_"I've got you. I've got you."_

* * *

Gibbs awoke the next morning to Abby silently holding Tony's hand. The agent was sleeping soundly so Gibbs just nodded a greeting to Abby. He tried not to worry about how much DiNozzo was sleeping, knowing he needed it to heal. He stretched, wincing at the stiffness in his back from his night in the uncomfortable chair. But he'd meant what he said the day before: Tony would not be alone until they figured out who had tried to kill him.

Tony started to stir and Abby's hand tightened on his when he groaned softly. Tony's eyes snapped open and he jerked his hand out of her grasp, yelling, "Get the _fuck_ off me!"

Abby stood so fast her chair clattered to the floor behind her. Gibbs saw the tears gather in her eyes and he stood, but she bolted before he could get a hand on her. He heard her boots clomping down the hall as he turned his attention back to his agent. Tony looked sick.

"I'm sorry, Boss," he whispered. "I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, Tony," Gibbs said, moving closer but stopping cold when Tony flinched at the hand he lifted to touch him. "Okay, it's all right. She'll be fine. I think you just scared her, but she'll get over it once she realizes she scared you first."

Tony was just staring at him. "Stop it, Gibbs," he said, and Gibbs blinked at the bitterness—and faint undertone of anger—in his voice. "Don't worry about me. Go find her."

"Hey, what's going on? Are you okay? Did she hurt you?" Gibbs asked gently.

Tony laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Really, Gibbs? I just made Abby cry and you're asking me if I'm okay? Stop. Seriously. I don't want you to be all gentle with me. I didn't take that damned knife to my wrists so stop acting like I'm fragile. This isn't the first time someone's tried to kill me. We've done this dance before and you never worried about stepping on my toes then, so don't do it now."

Gibbs was shocked at the bitterness and anger that had multiplied during his speech. "Tony, this isn't someone mailing an anonymous letter laced with plague, or someone shooting at a badge. This was personal... and horrible... and—"

"And you're doing it again," Tony snapped, sitting up and trying to cross his arms over his chest—until he realized it was impossible with his splinted wrists. His frustration upped his anger a notch, but his voice was deadly quiet when he said, "I don't want you to pull out the kid gloves, and I sure as hell don't want you to be nice to me."

"Tony, please," Gibbs started, only to be cut off by Tony's harsh laugh.

"See? Really? When have you ever said 'please' to me? Never. So stop. Go find Abby and make her feel better. No, wait, don't," he said, throwing back the blanket with a grimace of pain. "It should be me. I need to go find her."

He swung his feet to the floor and stood—too fast, apparently, because his knees buckled and Gibbs barely caught him before he hit the floor. He helped him back into bed, eyeing his bandaged wrists to make sure he wasn't bleeding. Tony accepted the help because he was too weak to fight, but he refused to look at his boss, curling on his side and cradling his arms to his chest. Gibbs went to the door, looking back once, thoroughly confused, before going to find Abby.

* * *

He found her slumped in a row of chairs near the nurses' station. She wiped away tears as he sat beside her and put a hand on her knee. "You okay?" he asked softly.

She sniffled and turned wounded green eyes on him, and he recognized the same confusion he was feeling in them. "Do you think I hurt him? I squeezed when he made that awful sound. I just wanted him to know I was there. Did I hurt him? Is that why he reacted like that?"

Gibbs considered his answer before speaking, wanting to make her feel better but knowing he couldn't lie to her. She was too smart for that. "Abbs, I don't know if you hurt him. I doubt it. But think about how they would have had to hold him to do what they did to him. I think you just scared him."

Abby cringed as she imagined the scenario and was glad Tony had made her leave so she wouldn't have his audio track playing over the horrible images. She nodded, wiping away more tears. "Is he okay? Is he mad at me?"

Gibbs winced, remembering the anger in Tony's tired voice. "Nah. He's mad at me, though."

Abby looked aghast. "Gibbs! What did you say? You didn't yell at him, did you? It's my fault, not his."

"He's mad because I wasn't mad at him," Gibbs said, thinking maybe he should put McGee on permanent protection detail. Gibbs wasn't good at this, and he knew it. He had a hard enough time trying to sort through the layers of deception and piles of masks Tony juggled with such skill before all this. And it was vital that he not mess this up; the last thing he wanted was to cause DiNozzo more pain.

Abby simply nodded, though. "He always gets upset when you're nice to him."

"Gee, thanks," Gibbs said, accomplishing his mission and getting a small smile out of the Goth.

"You know what I mean," Abby said, standing and smoothing her plaid skirt. "I'm going to go talk to him. You coming?"

Gibbs stood as well, but he hesitated. "I'll be waiting outside. I don't think he wants to see me right now."

"Oh, Gibbs," Abby said, taking his hand and heading down the hall. "Of course he wants to see you. He needs you—especially now. He's probably just confused and hurting and doesn't know what he needs. Just try to be normal with him, Gibbs. That'll help the most. Hell, headslap him or something. It'll probably work wonders."

Gibbs tried to smile and found it didn't feel right. "I don't know, Abbs. He's in so much pain—and not just the physical. I can deal with that part. But I think I'm the last person who should be in charge of putting him back together."

Abby shook her head, her pigtails swinging. "Well there's the problem, Gibbs. You've got to stop thinking he's broken."


	24. Chapter 24

"Call me Bubba. Everyone does."

Ziva nodded at the big blond man who sat grinning in front of her, wondering why she had even decided to interview Robert North again since McGee had done so just days earlier. _Because I have talked to practically everyone else on this ship who has so much as said "bless you" to Tony?_

"All right, Bubba," Ziva said, finding herself smiling at his infectious charm. "I just have a few questions for you regarding Agent DiNozzo."

Bubba's smile fell. "How is he?" he asked softly.

"Still unconscious," Ziva lied, feeling slightly guilty. It was obvious the man cared about what happened to Tony.

Bubba nodded. "Ask away. Anything you need."

"Well, you told Agent McGee all about Palamar," Ziva said, wondering again why she was here. "If there is nothing you can add there, I was just wondering if you could tell me anything about Agent DiNozzo's mental state when you talked to him."

"You're still trying to find out if he did this to himself?" Bubba asked.

Ziva nodded, silently encouraging the man to go on.

"I'm afraid I can't really help much there," Bubba said. "I didn't really know him well. He seemed like a good guy, though. Not like the type to try to kill himself, but they say it's the quiet ones you need to worry about. Do you really think someone could have done this to him?"

"We are investigating every possibility."

"Wow," Bubba said, looking shaken.

Ziva saw the look and asked, "Wow?"

Bubba looked up at her, seeming slightly startled. "I just … I was imaging what an awful thing that would be to do to someone. Especially someone as likeable as Tony. As terrible as it sounds, I almost hope he did do it to himself."

Ziva just nodded, wanting to tell him the truth but knowing she couldn't. "If you do not have anything else to add…"

Bubba shook his head and stood. "No ma'am. I'm sorry."

Ziva stood as well, accidentally spilling her stack of files onto the floor. Bubba immediately stooped to help her gather them back up. His eyes caught the Squire/Daly file and he asked, "Squire? As in Hannah Squire?"

Ziva accepted the messy stack with a small smile. "Yes, an unrelated case. Do you know Petty Officer Squire?"

Bubba smiled appreciatively. "Yeah. But then, everyone knows Hannah. That is one good-looking woman."

He moved to leave, but turned back from the door. "Will you let me know if you hear anything about Tony's condition? I mean, I know he busted me for that poker game and all, but I can't blame him for doing his job. I hope he's okay."

Ziva nodded again, guilt nipping at her heels. "I will do that, Bubba. Thank you."

* * *

Abby returned to find Tony curled up and facing the wall.

"Tony?"

She saw his back stiffen at her voice and lost all her earlier confidence. She tried not to cry again.

"I'm sorry, Abby," he said, not moving.

"Don't be," she said, righting the chair and sitting again. She didn't try to touch him even though everything in her was screaming to hug him tight and never let him go.

His eyes were closed and she bit her lip. It was just so unnatural. The two of them could usually talk a third party blind, but she didn't know what to say.

"One of the sisters is knocked up," she finally

blurted. She was immensely grateful when Tony's eyes popped open.

"No way," he said, a smile starting to creep across his face. "Don't tell me. The baby daddy's a priest?"

Abby laughed, her relief written all over her face. "No, but it is causing quite the uproar. And not just because she's our best bowler. I mean, that's going to be a huge problem, no pun intended, well, maybe just a little intended, but—"

"Abby," Tony said softly, and she stopped as he reached out and took her hand. "Thanks, Abbs."

She smiled at him, giving his bandaged hand a careful squeeze. "So Sister Rosita was saying..."

* * *

Ziva was reviewing files.

Again.

Her frustration was about to make her head explode. She had talked to so many people and yet she had no new information. She felt just like that damned belt on the treadmill, moving endlessly in circles and getting nowhere. She straightened the mess she had made of the files, her eyes landing on the one involving the poker game between Doug Lowe and Bubba North. She quickly skimmed it for the second time that day, suddenly wondering why the two men had been involved in such a low-stakes poker game in a laundry room. It seemed more like the kind of thing two people would do in someone's bunk.

She thought about calling Bubba back but decided to go talk to Lowe instead. She had spoken with him earlier, but only to confirm Damon Willis' alibi, and she figured it was one more person Tony had had contact with who might know something—even if he did not know he knew.

Mostly it would get her out of the confining space of the office. She shuddered, thinking about outgoing, sociable DiNozzo trapped here all alone, but she quickly abandoned the thoughts. Tony was home now. He was going to be fine.

She checked the duty roster and found that Lowe was on duty in the infirmary so she left the office, locking the door behind her. She made her way down corridors and up staircases, watching sailors' varying reactions to her presence. Some looked at her distrustfully; some gave her appreciative glances. She reached the infirmary and inquired about Lowe. She was led to a curtained area and sat, standing again once Lowe entered.

She looked the man over, watching him clasp small hands together and watch her with dark, nervous eyes.

"Corpsman," she said, nodding.

"Nice to see you again, Officer David," he said quietly. "What can I do for you?"

She smiled, trying to put him at ease. "I have some more questions for you regarding Agent DiNozzo. Tell me about the incident he wrote you up for."

Lowe blanched. "I got docked a whole lot of pay for that one."

Ziva almost rolled her eyes. She tried to be patient when she said, "I am sure that was upsetting. I would really like to know about the actual incident, however."

His eyes met hers for a nanosecond before sliding away again. _Why did I not notice his shiftiness before?_ Ziva wondered, chalking it up to her worry about whether Tony would make it or not.

"Agent DiNozzo caught me and my buddy Bubba playing in a stakes card game," Lowe said automatically, setting off alarms in Ziva's head. It just sounded so rehearsed, but she tried not to let her excitement show as he continued. "We were in his bunk, playing, and Agent DiNozzo caught us and wrote us up. There really isn't any more to it than that."

_Liar._ _Tony caught you in a laundry room. Guess you did not rehearse _that_ part of your lie well enough. _Ziva was about to pounce on him when she remembered that there were more players involved—and Tony suspected a conspiracy to beat the drug testing. Lowe was a corpsman after all.

She abandoned her desire to beat the truth out of him and forced herself to go all doe-eyed instead. She huffed a heavy sigh. "There is nothing else you can add? You see, Agent DiNozzo—_Tony_—he is a very good friend of mine and I am desperate to find out what happened to him. What was he like? Did he seem upset? Depressed? Please. I really need your help."

Lowe just stared at her, and Ziva's hands itched to grab him by the hair and scream into his weasely face. "I'm sorry. I can't really help you. He seemed normal to me."

"All right then," she said, still playing upset. She thanked him and left, anxious to talk to Gibbs and have him ask Tony about Lowe. She would wait until Lowe finished his shift in the infirmary, and then she would begin investigating the drug-testing angle—and hopefully put an end to this nightmare.

* * *

Abby had to return to work and she gave Gibbs a peck on the cheek as she left. "Just be normal with him, Gibbs," she advised, squeezing his hand. "You'll be fine."

Gibbs watched her go and turned back to the room, trying to prepare himself for this newly bitter and angry creature that was DiNozzo. He entered the room and was surprised to find Tony feigning sleep, his slightly uneven breathing giving him away. Gibbs considered letting him continue to pretend, but ultimately, he took a seat and barked a "Quit faking, DiNozzo" and winced when Tony flinched and regarded him with guilty eyes.

They stared at each other for a moment, the leftover awkwardness from their earlier confrontation like a physical being in the room with them. _Be normal, be normal, be normal,_ Gibbs thought, but the pain and guilt and sadness haunting the green eyes watching him made it difficult. _Am I really supposed to smack him when he's looking at me like that?_

"I'm sorry, Gibbs," Tony said so softly that Gibbs suddenly wanted angry Tony again. Defeated, aching Tony was just so _wrong._

"Don't apologize," Gibbs said, half-achieving some bite to his tone. "Sign of weakness."

"Well considering I'm the picture of weakness right now," Tony said tiredly, "maybe you could cut me some slack?"

"I thought you didn't want me being nice?"

Gibbs watched Tony's eyes close in a pain that had nothing to do with his wounds, and suddenly he wanted nothing more than to pull Tony into his arms and apologize until he was blue in the face. He didn't say anything, though, but he was starting to doubt Abby's advice.

"I acted like a complete ass," Tony soldiered on, and Gibbs felt his pride flare at the man's resolve, his absolute strength. "You've been nothing but good to me, Gibbs, and I had no right to talk to you like that. I'm sorry." He paused. "Please don't be mad at me?"

Gibbs was fairly sure his heart had just cracked in half and he fought the urge to put a hand to his chest and make an urgent call to Ducky. "I'm not mad, DiNozzo," he said softly, simply unable to force gruffness into his voice. _Sorry, Abby, but nothing about any of this is normal. _"I know it upsets you when I'm overly nice, and it won't happen again."

Tony gave him a half-smile at that, but then he sighed and frowned so hard Gibbs almost asked him if he was in pain. "I hate this. All of it. Every damned part of it."

McGee walked in to hear the last part of that and stopped cold at the words, the despair in DiNozzo's voice. He looked ready to bolt.

"Stay, McGee," Tony said, unnerving Gibbs with how quickly he had made his tone normal again. "Please. Distract me before I really fall off the edge. I left my parachute in my other hospital gown. The landing won't be pretty."

McGee faked a smile. He was nowhere near as good at it as DiNozzo, but Gibbs was proud he tried. "Sure, Tony. I've even got something to distract you with. I just talked to Ziva."

Tony's eyes lit up even as he struggled to move into a more upright position. Gibbs watched him carefully. He was just learning when to help Tony and when to let him do things for himself, as awkward as it sometimes was with his splinted wrists. He realized that he'd rather watch DiNozzo pour water all over himself than embarrass him by taking the carafe, and Tony seemed to appreciate the space he was being given. It was just another example of the parts of their nonverbal communication that hadn't suffered from disuse.

Tony smiled. "Yes, talk to me about the case. It'll be just like the squad room. Just not quite as orange."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Speak, McGee. Before the drugs take over and he goes all loopy on us."

McGee nodded, ignoring his usual chair and pacing instead, making Tony jealous of his energy. He tried not to sigh as he listened to McGee tell him about Ziva's conversation with Lowe. When the younger agent was done, Tony found Gibbs staring at him. _No way, _Tony thought. _No way does he know. He's good, but…_

"I knew this would come back to bite me in the ass," Tony said, looking at his hands.

"What did you do, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked, but he sounded more exasperated than angry.

McGee mostly looked confused.

Tony met Gibbs' eyes. "I screwed up, Boss. Again. As usual. I'm not really sure why anyone trusts me…"

"Talk, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, sounding … well… normal.

Tony picked at the bandage on his right hand. "The two sailors, Lowe and North, they weren't playing cards. I caught them, uh, in a compromising position in a laundry room one night."

"What exactly does that mean?" Gibbs asked.

Tony gave him a dubious look.

"Bubba's gay?" McGee asked, incredulous as it all made sense to him. "Really? I never would have guessed that."

"To each his own, Tim," Tony said, sounding tired again. His weakness was easing by the day, but it was still frustrating that he couldn't even have a conversation without feeling like he'd been going toe to toe with a heavyweight. "I don't judge."

"Obviously," Gibbs murmured, ignoring the wounded look DiNozzo threw at him.

"I had just been through the mess with Squire and Daly," Tony said, knowing they knew the case from having gone through his files, "and I just couldn't make myself ruin their careers. It was probably a bad decision, but it's the one I made."

Gibbs grunted. "It was stupid, DiNozzo. It's your career, too, we're talking about here. You pull something like that on my team and I'll kick your ass from here to Sunday."

"I wasn't exactly in the best headspace out there, Gibbs," Tony said, surprising them both with the soft admission. "But you're right. It was stupid. But it's kind of moot, now. And it doesn't relate to, well, this," he said, glancing at his wrists.

"What if they thought you'd rat them out?" McGee said, watching Tony flex his fingers slowly, a sure sign that he was starting to hurt again. A quick glance at Gibbs let him know his boss saw the movements, too.

"I'd have no reason to," Tony said, not missing the exchanged looks between his team. _Shit, I hate this_, he thought, trying to will the burning pain away, not wanting to interrupt their discussion to ask for something to ease the agony. "And not to mention, I'd look completely incompetent if I tried to change my story."

"So it's back to square one," McGee said. "Ziva's going to be upset. She sounds like she's going crazy out there."

McGee paled, realizing what he'd said. But he saw that Tony was in too much pain to notice. The senior agent's eyes were closed and he was breathing slowly, intently, as if trying to force the pain out with each exhalation. Gibbs was up and out the door before either of them could react.

A nurse returned with Gibbs and she wordlessly injected a clear fluid into the IV at Tony's elbow and left. McGee watched Gibbs lay a gentle hand on Tony's arm and whisper softly to him, and he was reminded of his own father and a rather painful incident with a pot of boiling water.

Tony's eyes finally opened and his breathing was steady even if his voice was a little strained when he said, "Fuck the squad room. They've got way better drugs here."

McGee blinked at the epithet, but Gibbs grinned and the younger agent followed suit.

Tony continued, his embarrassment masked by sweet, blissful relief from the tearing pain. "Okay, that was fun. Intermission over. Where were we?"

Gibbs scooted backward, giving Tony back his space. "Done."

"Well, there was one more thing," McGee said, wincing at the glare Gibbs shot him. Apparently Gibbs wanted to let Tony rest. "But it can wait."

Tony gave him a glare all his own. "Says who?" He yawned. "Just make it snappy, McGoo. I've got a date with sweet oblivion."

"Sounds nice," McGee said.

Tony nodded. "Got a nice rack, too," he said, drawing a look from Gibbs.

"Ziva talked with Petty Officer Squire," McGee said.

"What for?" Tony asked, sliding into a more horizontal position. "She's small enough to have hid in the closet, but she had no reason to do this to me. I still think Daly raped her."

"Why wouldn't she want to report it and have him punished?" Gibbs asked.

"Take your pick of any of the many reasons women don't report rapes," Tony said, but he looked troubled. "I couldn't get her to call it rape. There wasn't anything I could do."

"And Daly was off the ship at the time of your attack," Gibbs said, effectively shutting down the conversation. DiNozzo looked like he was already asleep by the end of the sentence anyway.

McGee moved to leave, but he stopped halfway to the door. "Boss?"

"Yeah, Tim?" Gibbs asked, using his given name when he heard the hesitation in the young agent's voice.

McGee looked at Tony, debating. He finally asked, "Is he okay? I mean, I know he's gonna be fine physically, once he heals, but what he was saying when I got here… He just sounded so…" McGee refused to say "broken" but his eyes said it for him.

Gibbs regarded his conscious agent with unreadable eyes for a moment, touched that his team obviously cared so much for each other. "He's hurting," Gibbs said honestly. "Inside and out, but he's still DiNozzo. Hang on to that, McGee, and you'll both be fine."

McGee nodded, his eyes on Tony's peaceful face. That expression was immeasurably better than the twisted grimace of sheer agony that had been there so recently.

"Thanks, Boss."


	25. Chapter 25

Ziva sat in Tony's office, her feet on the desk, arms behind her head, staring at the ceiling. She could not, for the life of her, figure out where to start in on the drug-testing investigation—or if it was even relevant to Tony's attack. But having exhausted all other leads, she didn't have anything else to go on and so she forced herself to focus.

She knew that all personnel on the ship were tested randomly, the names pulled from a computer-generated list. The randomness made it impossible to time drug use in order to produce clean samples. Samples were given under the watch of a master-at-arms, usually with the security man watching discreetly by mirror, and then taken to the Urinalysis Coordinator to be sent back to shore for testing, which was done in batches.

Ziva made a note to find out who the Urinalysis Coordinator, or UC, was and talk to him or her. She would have to be careful, though, because the UC seemed to have the best opportunity to tamper with samples. She would also talk to the masters-at-arms.

Her eyes strayed to the photo of the team on Tony's desk, and she reminded herself to take it home with her, if she ever got off the ship. Her eyes were drawn to Tony first, since he had been dominating her thoughts recently as she continued the investigation he should be conducting instead of lying in a hospital. She had been seriously relieved to hear he was awake, but she wanted to see him with her own eyes, wanted to hear his voice.

She forced her eyes away from Tony's smiling face and as they landed on McGee in the photo, she had a sudden thought. She needed a computer person to talk to, preferably McGee, to find out if it was possible that someone was tampering with the lists of names to be tested, perhaps arranging certain sailors' test dates and letting them know in advance. She ground her teeth in frustration that she couldn't just pick up a phone and call McGee. She thought about calling Bubba—she'd seen in his file that he was a computer technician.

The door to the office swung open mid-thought, though, and she was on her feet with her gun drawn and pointing at the intruder's head in an instant.

The man held up his hands, "Whoa, Ziva, it's just me."

"Me" was Agent Arthur Montgomery, and as Ziva nodded and holstered her gun, she thought about their first meeting.

_"I'm Agent Montgomery, but you can call me Stick," he said, extending a hand. _

_"I am Officer David. Ziva, please," she said, eying him curiously. He was in his late 40s but he had blond hair, tanned skin and could have passed for a hip college professor—or a surfer. Or both, she decided, wondering about the nickname. "Surely your parents did not name you Stick?"_

_He gave her a wide grin, shaking his head and dislodging a frond of blond hair. "Nah, they did worse. My name is Arthur Bartholomew Montgomery. Do I look like an Art to you? Or a Bart?"_

_She smiled back, grimacing slightly. "Not at all."_

_"A few people called me Monty when I was cop on dry land," he said, giving her a wicked grin. "Those are some bodies that'll never be found. Ha, no, I'm kidding. But I hated it. Stick is a leftover nickname from high school. It could be so much worse so I just go with it."_

_She let her eyes drift over him. "Stick? I do not understand."_

_He smiled again, patting his slight paunch. "I used to be a tiny little guy back then. It started out as 'stick figure' but, well, kids are lazy. So Stick it is." _

_"Well, all right, then, Stick," she said, feeling relieved. When Gibbs had told her about him and said he liked the man, she worried the replacement agent would be as quiet as her team leader. _

_He was giving her an appraising look. "And speaking of names," he said, wiggling bushy eyebrows, "yours is extremely fitting."_

_She smiled slyly at him. "You know the Hebrew meaning of Ziva?"_

_"One meaning is 'splendor' and another is 'radiant.' I'm just having trouble deciding which is more apt for you, pretty lady."_

"I am sorry," Ziva said. "I almost forgot I am not alone out here. You have been busy."

He nodded. "It's been 'Petty Officers Gone Wild' out there. Did you hear about the streaker?"

She laughed. "Yes, I did," she said, shaking her head. "I heard he was very … quick."

Stick grinned. "I would be too if it were my bare ass hanging out like that." He paused. "Anyway, the reason I'm here is that the captain would like to speak with you. I don't know why he didn't just call. I got the feeling he wanted me to escort you. I agreed. Not because he's the captain or anything. I just wanted a chance to flirt."

She knew he was keeping it light to put her at ease and she smiled gratefully as they headed for the door. But her thoughts were a million miles away as they made their way to the captain's office. _What now? _she thought, fighting back a sigh.

* * *

Gibbs entered MTAC to conference with Ziva, and he was feeling relieved to be away from the hospital, where he'd left McGee on an easy assignment: protection detail for a sleepy, drugged Tony. He felt bad about enjoying his freedom, knowing that DiNozzo was stuck there. It occurred to Gibbs that Tony must really be hurting and feeling weak to not be begging to go home. Sure, he'd asked several times when he was being "let out of the cage" and the nurses had him up and moving some, but he had threatened to sign himself out AMA only once. Gibbs was pretty sure that was a record.

He turned his thoughts to the investigation as he approached the big screen, feeling antsy and hoping Ziva had come up with _something_ that would help them. Gibbs didn't think he could take it if the trail went cold and they couldn't find the scum who had attacked Tony and nearly killed him.

The second Ziva's face popped up on the screen, Gibbs knew his hopes weren't going to be fulfilled. Something was wrong. Really wrong, judging by the frown and tension written plainly across her pretty face.

"Ziva," he said, not wasting any time. "What's wrong?"

Her frown deepened. "We have a big problem, Gibbs," she said. She looked down, no longer able to meet his eyes, even through the screen. "And it is all my fault."

"Tell me what's going on," he ordered.

She took a deep breath. "I had a meeting with the captain. He just wanted to know how the investigation was going so I told him I do not have much but that I am still working. He rambled on for a while, and I could not understand what was going on until one of the masters-at-arms came into the office." Her eyes were furious when she said, "They just wanted me out of Tony's office so they could search it—on Director Vance's orders. They found the bottle, Gibbs."

Gibbs cursed softly, drawing a look from one of the techs in the room with him. He glared back until the tech turned away, looking frightened.

Ziva continued, her dark eyes distressed in a way Gibbs had rarely seen them. "This is my fault, Gibbs. I should have seen the setup for what it was. I should have hidden the bottle better after I found it."

"Ziver, stop," Gibbs said, his voice firm but lacking its usual bite. "This isn't your fault. Hell, if I had been thinking, I would have gotten rid of it myself. What did the captain say?"

"Not much—and he took forever to say it," she said bitterly. "It is Vance that I am afraid of. I spoke with him before you came on, and he is sending me home in the morning. He is ordering Agent Montgomery to finish with the drug-testing investigation because it has nothing to do with what happened to Tony. But he phrased it, 'What Agent DiNozzo did.' I am afraid, Gibbs. This is going to crush Tony."

"And make it that much harder to find who did this," Gibbs said, rubbing a hand over his face.

"What do we do?" Ziva asked, her tone as close to pleading as Gibbs had ever heard it.

Gibbs bit back everything he wanted to say—to yell. He forced out a calm he did not feel. "Did you find anything? Any reason why someone would do this to Tony?"

She sighed. "I was about to begin working on the drug-testing angle, and even though I hate to admit it, I agree it could be unrelated. But I will make the most of my last night aboard, interviewing the Urinalysis Coordinator and any of the masters-at-arms that I can find. I do not care if I have to interview them at 0300, I will talk to as many as I can."

Gibbs felt a flare of pride at her words, her resolve. "Good, Ziva."

"And I have a computer theory I need to discuss with McGee," she said, her lips curling bitterly. "I guess I will be having that conversation in person now."

Gibbs tried not to react to her frustration, but it mirrored his own and he scowled. "I'll talk to Vance. I doubt I'll get him to change his mind, but I can at least try." He noted the dark circles under her eyes and added, "Get yourself some rest, Ziva."

Her chin lifted a notch at that. "No, Gibbs. I will rest when the animals responsible for this have paid—and paid dearly."


	26. Chapter 26

Gibbs slammed the director's door hard enough to make the bullet-resistant windows rattle.

Vance simply looked up and said calmly, "I've been expecting you."

"Can't imagine why," Gibbs spat, planting himself in front of Vance's desk.

"Then she told you they found the bottle," Vance said, not waiting for Gibbs to answer. "Do I need to remind you there's a zero tolerance policy for alcohol on Navy warships? But that's not really the point. I'm more angry that you wasted an MCRT's time and resources investigating a farce. Did you know he was drinking? You had to have found the bottle when you were out there. You had to know he felt guilty about Jenny, that he was upset at his assignment as agent afloat. And yet you still let this charade go on."

"Just because he was drinking doesn't mean he tried to kill himself. If that were true, I'd have been dead years ago," Gibbs deadpanned.

Vance didn't react to that; he just continued, "He was having nightmares, wandering around the ship at all hours. You didn't report those things to me. What else are you hiding for him?"

"Most cops have nightmares," Gibbs said. "You would too if you didn't spend all your time sitting in an office or kissing ass on the Hill."

"Watch yourself, Gibbs," Vance said, sharply. "Yours and your team's records are the only thing keeping me from firing him."

"You can't do that," Gibbs said, visibly trying to rein in his rage. "He's on medical."

Vance just lifted a shoulder. "Moot point. It's not like he'll pass the psych eval anyway."

"You just know everything, don't you?"

"No, I don't know everything," Vance said, and Gibbs knew that wasn't the end of the sentence, "because I don't know what's wrong with you. You don't just ignore facts, Gibbs, and yet you can't accept the fact that he was depressed, drinking and tried to kill himself."

Gibbs' hands closed into fists. "Now who's ignoring facts? You know damned well that there wasn't a drop of alcohol in his system when he was attacked, that he was threatened."

Vance just scowled back. "So maybe he drank the night before. Who hasn't wanted to off themselves during a raging hangover?"

Gibbs gaped. "You're making jokes? He's an agent injured in the line of duty, and have you even been to see him? He nearly died. Maybe if you'd gone to see him, you'd have seen his resolve. His strength. I just want what he wants: to find the bastards who did this to him." _And kill them… slowly._

"Listen to yourself, Gibbs," Vance said, incredulous. "No one 'did this to him' but himself. If someone wanted the agent afloat dead—and you've found no reason why anyone would—they'd shoot him, toss his body overboard. Why go through the trouble of making it look like suicide? And why cut his wrists? Why not put his gun to his head?"

"His mother killed herself that way," Gibbs said, furious.

"That's one of the biggest holes in his story," Vance said, his calm making Gibbs all the more angry. "How would these 'attackers' know that?"

"Could have hacked his file," Gibbs returned, even though something was nagging the back of his mind at Vance's words.

Vance scoffed. "You and I both know that's not in his file. Not even his psych file. He doesn't talk about it."

"Can't imagine why," Gibbs said, thinking hard, racking his brain. "Someone could have found the original police report on her death."

Vance had the audacity to smile. "You haven't seen it?" he asked, slightly surprised. "Her death was ruled accidental. It appears the DiNozzos are rich _and _have some powerful friends."

Gibbs felt sick. He hadn't known that. He just glared.

"I'm done, Gibbs. Face the facts. Officer David will be returning in the morning and your team will be back on rotation."

"And DiNozzo?"

"You are right about that," Vance conceded with another snarled smile. "He's on medical. He'll face a psych evaluation if he's able to return."

"And when he passes?" Gibbs asked, keeping his concern about that out of his voice.

"_If_ he passes," Vance said, "he'll be assigned to duty where I see fit. This conversation is over, Agent Gibbs. Close the door on your way out."

Gibbs turned and stalked out of the office, wondering just how the hell he was supposed to look Tony in his already wounded eyes and tell him this.

* * *

Gibbs didn't even have to think about where he was going. He was upset and in need of advice so there was only one option.

"Jethro! My, my. What is wrong, my friend?" Ducky asked as Gibbs stormed autopsy.

Gibbs gave him a succinct recap, the Marine in him fighting to keep the profanity he wanted to use out of the description. He leaned back against a shiny table and closed his eyes. "How the hell am I supposed to go tell him this, Duck? It's going to kill him."

Ducky frowned, disturbed by Gibbs' obvious, unguarded agitation. "I doubt that, Jethro. Anthony's been through hell already, and he's still breathing. This will be just another bump in his long road to recovery."

"A bump, Ducky?" Gibbs asked tiredly. He suddenly longed for his own bed and several uninterrupted hours to spend there. But he couldn't—Tony needed him. "More like getting hit by a bus on that road."

"You have to tell him," Ducky said, reading Gibbs' thoughts before he even had a chance to fully think them out.

"Do I?"

"Yes, Jethro, you do," Ducky said patiently. "It's going to be hard on him, absolutely, but he'll only be hurt more that you kept it from him when he finds out later."

"Goddammit," Gibbs said, running a hand over his face. "Hasn't he been through enough?"

"Enough for several lifetimes, indeed," Ducky said, patting Gibbs' arm. "But he also has incredible strength to draw on, not only from within but also from the many people who care about him. We know he didn't do this to himself, and we now just have to remind him of our convictions and help him through this."

"If he'll let us," Gibbs said grimly.

Ducky sighed. "Well, yes. There is that." He looked at the bodies lining his tables. "I've been deluged here and haven't been able to see him. How is he?"

"Physically? Weak as hell and hating every minute of it. Otherwise, he's pretty much all over the place," Gibbs said, his concern bleeding into his voice. "He goes from cracking jokes to angry to breaking my damned heart."

Ducky raised an eyebrow at that soft admission.

"He got mad at me for being too nice. He yelled, I left, and when I came back, he pleaded with me not to be mad at him." Gibbs sighed. "Vulnerable is not a word I like associating with DiNozzo. And I feel like nothing I say is right. Abby told me to be normal with him, and I'm trying, but it's so hard to bark at him when I know he's suffering."

"I'm sure you're doing fine," Ducky said, and it was not a platitude. Ducky knew that under all the gruffness and headslaps, Gibbs would lie down in traffic for his senior agent, his friend. "The important thing is that you are there with him and he knows he can be angry or sad or scared and you'll still be there. He knows that, Jethro. It may have taken a long time, and there have been bumps along the way, but he trusts you implicitly."

Gibbs smiled softly. "Thanks, Duck," he said sincerely but quietly, uncomfortable with expressing the emotion. "I should get going. Might as well get this over with."

Ducky glanced again at the tables. "Would you like me to go with you? You are right about one thing: This isn't going to be easy."

Gibbs followed his eyes. "You don't have to, Duck. I know you're busy."

Ducky stripped off his gloves. "My guests are comfortable as they are. They can wait a few hours. I'll go," he said, hesitating only slightly before continuing. "Anthony may need some comforting, and it might be better coming from me."

Gibbs smiled wryly. "Now there's a truth only a friend can deliver."

"Jethro," Ducky said, flushing slightly. "I didn't mean to imply that you aren't capable of soothing him—sometimes I think you're the _only_ one who can get through to him. I'm just not sure either of you would be comfortable if he takes this as badly as I suspect he might."

Gibbs just lifted a shoulder. "Don't worry about it. You're right."

* * *

It turns out that Ducky was right—sort of. Tony took the news badly, his face going impossibly white and a fine shudder visibly running through his body, but he was _not_ in the mood to be comforted.

"It's my fault," he said blankly, the lack of emotion erasing the relief Gibbs had felt upon entering the room to find him dressed in a T-shirt and sweats and sitting up in a chair, a book held only slightly awkwardly in his bandaged, splinted hands. He found it odd that the simple lack of a hospital gown had filled him with such gladness.

"Anthony—" Ducky began.

"No, don't," Tony said quietly, setting aside the book and wincing as it put pressure on his still far from healed wounds. "I shouldn't have been drinking. My fault. No wonder Vance thinks I did this to myself."

When Gibbs spoke, he did so with enough anger for both of them, as if he had found the fury DiNozzo should have been feeling but couldn't. "DiNozzo. Knock that off, right now. I don't want to hear that crap from you again. You know you didn't do this. I know you didn't do this. Vance is an ass who's had it out for you for a long time now. You don't give in to him. You hear me?"

Tony looked up, his eyes still emotionless. "Yeah, Boss, I got you," he finally said, his tone flat and exhausted.

Gibbs wasn't convinced, but he saw the longing look DiNozzo cast at the bed and decided to leave it—for now.

"Would you like to lie back down?" Ducky asked, beating Gibbs to it.

Tony nodded and let Ducky help him stand and get settled, immediately curling onto his side and facing the wall. "You don't have to stay. I'll be fine."

Ducky exchanged a concerned look with Gibbs, who said, "Not gonna happen, DiNozzo. I already sent McGee home. You're stuck with me."

Tony was silent a moment before whispering, "I really just want to be alone, Gibbs. Just for a little while? Please?"

Gibbs threw a questioning look at Ducky and he nodded. Gibbs tried to keep his frustration out of his voice. "Okay, Tony. But I'll be right outside if you need me."

Ducky went to him to say his goodbyes and was wholly shocked when he barely got a response. He marveled that Tony could hide so well without actually pulling the blankets over his head.

Out in the hall, Gibbs turned to Ducky and saw his concern mirrored in the doctor's eyes.

"Is it wrong that I wish he'd started screaming? Or throwing things? Or both?" Gibbs asked.

"I would have been fine with any emotion," Ducky agreed. "That utter nothingness in his eyes scares me. Stay close to him tonight, Jethro. This will all find its way out at some point, and he's going to need support when it finally does."


	27. Chapter 27

Ziva's gaze flipped from her list of possible interviews to the clock. It was late and she had talked to only a few masters-at-arms, none of them giving her any clues as to how Palamar had beaten the drug testing. Her job was made slightly easier when she had learned that she could cross two names off the long list. She had already interviewed one master-at-arms, Damon Willis, because of his involvement in the fight Tony broke up, and the Urinalysis Coordinator, who she learned was Doug Lowe. While she was glad to have fewer interviews to conduct in the wee hours of the night, the revelation that Lowe was the UC disturbed her. If there was something hinky going on with the drug testing that had led to Tony's attack, the UC would almost have to be involved—and Lowe had a solid alibi.

_Wait, something is wrong there_, Ziva thought, battling her exhaustion and trying to concentrate. She flipped through her notes but was interrupted by a knock at her door.

"Enter," she said, setting aside the files with a deep sigh.

A young man poked his head into the office. It was nearly 0430, but he looked alert—much more so than she did, anyway.

"I'm Paul Weaver, master-at-arms," he said. "You wanted to see me?"

She nodded. "Have a seat. Thank you for seeing me. I know it is late."

He gave her a smile and she almost winced, his green eyes and that grin bringing up strong memories of her partner. She felt a little glimmer of happiness at the thought of seeing Tony again the next day, but she focused on the job at hand. She really did not want to go home with nothing.

"I wanted to speak to you because you caught a man trying to fake a urine sample last month," she said, and he nodded. "How did he do it?"

Weaver crossed one long leg over the other, his ankle resting on his knee. "Crazy sailor. Got a friend to give him a clean sample and put it in a balloon. A strategically taped tube produced the clean urine as I watched. He hid it well, and I didn't even see the tube in the mirror."

"How did you catch him?"

Weaver smiled that oh-so familiar lazy grin again. "Must have been a weak spot in his balloon. Burst his bubble, so to speak."

Ziva smiled back. "Ah, I see. Sounds messy."

Weaver laughed. "Yeah, it was. But he almost got away with it. It would be possible to pull it off, with stronger, uh, equipment."

Ziva felt a blush creep across her face. "What happened to the sailor?"

"Made him give a real sample. Surprise, surprise, it was positive for marijuana. He got tossed. Bye-bye career," he said, shaking his head. "I can't imagine giving it all up for a little weed, but I guess some think they can get away with it."

Ziva nodded, yawning. "Is there any other way to beat the tests? Besides faking a sample?"

Weaver frowned, thinking. "The samples go from us to the UC to the lab. Anyone with access along the way could tamper with them, I suppose. I can't imagine why anyone would risk their career to do it, though. But again, people do stupid things all the time."

"They do, indeed," Ziva said, looking at the clock again. "Thank you for your time, sailor."

"Of course, ma'am," he said, heading for the door. "I hope I was able to help."

She smiled again as he left, but her mind was on her earlier thoughts. Whatever had been bothering her tired mind was gone, though, and she turned her attention to the rest of the names on her list. With a weary sigh and a glance at the traitorous clock, she picked up the phone and started dialing.

* * *

Gibbs stayed outside the room for an hour before returning to find Tony resting, peaceful sleep erasing the lines from his face and making him look impossibly young. Gibbs picked up a magazine and tried to concentrate on it, but his gaze kept straying to his senior agent's face—and wrists. He thought back to what he'd told McGee. Tony was still Tony—and still one of the strongest people he knew, the kind who could walk through hell and come out on the other side commenting on the balmy weather.

But Gibbs wasn't sure if DiNozzo would come out of this unscathed. He knew the accusation had not only blindsided the agent, but it had also hurt him deeply, even if he wasn't comfortable showing it. Gibbs wanted to follow Abby's advice and treat him normally and discuss the case with him as he would in any other circumstance, but he sure as hell didn't want to add to the mountain of pain he was buried in. Part of him was immensely relieved by Tony's attempts at humor since he'd awoken, but Gibbs also knew that it was a classic DiNozzo defense mechanism. Often, the funnier the jokes, the more hurt Tony was hiding. And the complete lack of any emotion whatsoever was even more disturbing.

"I knew you didn't actually read 'People,' Gibbs."

Tony's soft voice jerked the lead agent out of his thoughts. _So we're not going to talk about it, _Gibbs thought. _So be it. If you don't want to talk about Vance, I don't blame you. _He smiled. "I could. You never know."

"I meant the magazine, not people, people, because you're scary good at reading people," Tony said, wincing as he pulled himself upright. "But _that_ might as well be 'Cosmo.' "

Gibbs tossed the magazine aside and studied Tony's face for signs of lingering pain. "How are you feeling?"

DiNozzo lifted a shoulder. _Hacked open, inside and out. _"I'm fine."

"I should headslap you for lying," Gibbs said, testing the waters. He wasn't entirely surprised when DiNozzo brightened a bit at the words. Abby really was a smart one.

"It's been awhile, hasn't it?" Tony asked, a small smile on his face. "I bet your fingers were itching to smack me when you thought I'd…"

The smile faded as he realized what he was saying, and Gibbs almost sighed. He was used to DiNozzo's mercurial moods changing like the weather in Montana, but the swings had never been so pronounced. Gibbs wasn't sure what to say to that so he just stayed quiet, expecting Tony to break the silence.

He never did so Gibbs tried a different tactic. He gestured to the magazine. "What's with these crazy kids and vampires lately?"

Tony didn't answer and Gibbs just watched him stare at his splinted wrists for a long moment. "Tony?"

DiNozzo looked up, his eyes dark and distressed. "Where is it, Gibbs? My knife?"

Only Gibbs' extensive training and experience kept him from flinching. "Bagged in evidence. I won't be upset if you don't want it back."

"I do, Gibbs," Tony said quickly. _Too quickly?_ "Of course I want it back. You gave it to me."

Abby's advice kept Gibbs from offering to get him another one, which was what he'd been planning to do anyway. He just said, "Okay. Chain of custody's screwed on it anyway. I'll try to remember it when I come back again."

" 'Try,' Gibbs? It's your eyesight that's going, not your memory."

"You trying to make me smack you?" Gibbs asked good-naturedly.

"Maybe," Tony answered with a sheepish smile.

"Gonna have to wait, DiNozzo. Your doctor would shoot me."

Gibbs stood, frowning. "I need coffee," he said, looking around the room.

"Go, Gibbs," Tony said, understanding the hesitation. "I'll be fine."

Gibbs was still frowning. He unclipped his gun from his belt and set it on the bed beside Tony. DiNozzo raised an eyebrow, the concerned thoughtfulness on his face reminding Gibbs strongly of old times.

"Your gut?" DiNozzo asked.

Gibbs nodded, and that was all Tony needed.

* * *

Gibbs returned a few minutes later, feeling a bolt of panic as he heard shouts from Tony's room. Two more steps relieved him of his anxiety—but his pace still remained quickened.

"I don't care if I'm as weak as my grandmother's coffee, I'm not eating that crap," he heard Tony yell.

Gibbs stepped into the room just in time to duck a tray of something god-awful and unrecognizable. He gave the nurse a glare and she fled the room, giving up on them both.

"I don't want to hear it, Gibbs," Tony said darkly, his earlier light mood as ruined as the disgusting dinner.

"You sure?" Gibbs asked, drawing a hopeful look from Tony. Gibbs shrugged, hoping Ducky wouldn't kill him for this. "If you're strong enough to throw a fit over mystery meat, you're strong enough to go home. You're still stuck with me, protection detail and all, but let's get you out of here."

Gibbs was shocked when DiNozzo looked like he might cry. He blinked furiously for a moment and muttered something about "damned drugs."

Gibbs turned to leave again, giving him time to collect himself. "I'll go get your paperwork."


	28. Chapter 28

Gibbs returned to find DiNozzo sitting facing the wall, his legs dangling over the side of the bed. He couldn't help thinking again how much younger it made the agent look. Tony seemed to be staring at his lap, and Gibbs wondered if he hadn't noticed him or was just ignoring him. It made Gibbs wonder where Tony's mood would be now.

"Will you do something for me?" he asked softly, not turning.

_Well, that answers that,_ Gibbs thought, silently chiding himself for having doubted him in the first place. He might be sitting there all long legs swinging, in his Ohio State T-shirt, hurt in such a vital, brutal way, but he was still a trained federal agent. _Attaboy, Tony. _

Gibbs entered the room, really wondering about what kind of mood it was going to be. Tony never asked for anything—not before this whole mess, he'd just do it and hope for the best—and certainly not during it. Gibbs couldn't decide if it was solely out of a fierce independence or if Tony was simply afraid to be denied. It was something he'd seen plenty of times in people who were neglected or abused as children. Somewhere along the way, they learned that it was easier to just want—instead of wanting _and _being disappointed.

Gibbs suddenly wanted to tell Tony that he couldn't deny him anything after what he'd been through, that Gibbs would do anything if it had even the slightest chance of lifting Tony out of his hell and back into a world where he was cared for and safe from the blades of madmen.

"Sure, Tony," Gibbs said, moving closer to his agent. "Anything you wan— _Goddamn_."

Gibbs breathed the word, his eyes locked on the same target as Tony's. The splints and bandages were lying discarded in a pile, baring the wounds Gibbs had only imagined until now.

It hurt Gibbs to _look_ at them.

The slightly reddened edges were pulled together with too many stitches to count, and the wounds themselves were raw, brutal, a physical reminder of the very hell he'd been put through. Gibbs stared long enough to see the rippling Ducky had mentioned a lifetime ago, and it made him suddenly realize the fallacy of their logic. Just because the rippling proved he'd been conscious during the cutting didn't mean he had done it himself.

Gibbs' knees went weak and he put a hand on the foot of the bed to steady himself as he thought about how Tony must have felt, being held down like that, feeling the blade tear open one wrist and knowing he was helpless to stop them from cutting the other. He thought of Tony's words when he told them about the attack. He had boiled down all that pain and terror into three simple words—_"They cut me"—_and Gibbs felt sick knowing he'd let him get away with stripping the horrifying experience of all emotion. The realization left Gibbs feeling like a complete failure.

He finally found his voice, only to be interrupted. "Tony, I—"

"Nice, huh?" Tony said, quietly, bitterly. "I went out to the Seahawk for four months and all I got were these stupid, near-fatal—"

"Tony, don't," Gibbs said, a ragged edge to his voice as he dragged his eyes away from the carnage and up to Tony's face. The agent's eyes were completely emotionless again—and that scared Gibbs more than the gruesome injuries. "No jokes, DiNozzo. Tell me what you're thinking."

Tony opened his mouth to lie, but Gibbs said, "Truth, DiNozzo."

A tiny smile touched his lips and Tony said, "Good to know the months apart didn't break your radar. … I think."

Gibbs didn't speak.

Tony sighed. "When I was in Baltimore, my partner and I responded to a call and found this girl bleeding all over her bedroom floor. It was a total mess and we thought she was dead, but we called the medics and did what we could. So I'm there with her, holding her wrists, kneeling in her blood, and she opens her eyes. She tries to pull away but she's weak as hell, which I thought I understood then. I really do now. Anyway, I tell her to stop. That we're going to help her. That she's going to be fine. She looks up at me—and she can't be more than 20 but her eyes are a thousand years old—and she says, 'Fine? I don't wanna be fine. I wanna be dead.' Then she passes out cold and I'm thinking she got her wish, but she makes it.

"I go see her in the hospital later. I don't know why, really. And she's sitting there all bandaged and lost looking. But as soon as she sees me, she starts shaking and crying. Then she screams at me, her voice pure hate. 'Fuck you!' she says. 'Thanks a lot asshole. I'm alive. Good for me. You son of a bitch. You try living with these scars.' Then she tells me as soon as she gets released, she's going to try again. Tells me as calm as asking me the time that she's going to jump off a building this time, so no one can stop her."

Gibbs waited a beat, forcing his eyes to stay on Tony's face. "Did she?"

Tony blinked, and then laughed, making Gibbs wince. "I really did miss you, Boss." He sobered quickly though. "So that's what I was thinking, looking at this hideous mess. What were you thinking about? Honestly?"

"Wasn't thinking about how bad it is," Gibbs said, drawing a disbelieving look from Tony. "All I'm thinking about is how bad I want to get my hands on whoever did that to you."

"Oh," Tony said. And he was quiet until Gibbs spoke again.

"So what did you want? When I came in, you asked—"

"Never mind," Tony said, and the sadness had settled back into his eyes. "It's stupid."

"You never ask for anything, DiNozzo. It had to be important."

Tony looked up, a rare vulnerability in his tired green eyes. "I want to go home."

Gibbs was confused—and slightly worried. _Maybe he's not ready yet. _"That's why I'm here. I just finished with your paperwork."

Tony's eyes hit the floor. "I mean home, home. To New York."

Gibbs couldn't help it. His jaw dropped. "What? Why? Oh," he said, the bared wounds suddenly making sense. "Your mother."

Tony nodded, still not looking at Gibbs. "I want to go to her grave." He shook his head, looking angry with himself. "But never mind. I can't ask you to go there with me."

"Tony," Gibbs said, his heart breaking at the misery in his voice. "Of course I'll take you. If you feel up to it, we'll leave tomorrow. Or the next day—whenever you're ready."

"Really?" Tony asked, finally lifting his gaze to Gibbs'.

Gibbs stepped closer and put a hand on Tony's shoulder. "There's really nothing I wouldn't do for you, Tony. Not after the hell you've been through," he said, letting the emotion bleed into his voice—not because he was particularly comfortable with it, but because DiNozzo needed to hear it. "I know I'm generally a bastard, but is that really so hard to believe?"

Guilt joined the pain in Tony's eyes. "No, I'm sorry, Gibbs. I didn't mean—"

"Hey," Gibbs said, smiling even though he was thoroughly unnerved by this ultra-quiet, apologetic version of Tony. "Don't worry about it. You can buy me a real pizza to make it up to me."

That got a small smile out of Tony, but Gibbs' chest tightened at how soft it was compared with his normal mega-watt grins. What he wouldn't give for none of this to have happened to dim that smile.

"Thanks, Gibbs. I will."


	29. Chapter 29

Tony was shaking by the time he and Gibbs arrived at the door to his apartment.

_Ducky's going to kill me_, Gibbs thought, but he didn't care. The second Tony had stepped out of the hospital and into the warm, dark embrace of the late-summer night, he'd stopped and breathed deeply, giving Gibbs a small, slightly embarrassed smile.

Gibbs had just patted his arm only a tad awkwardly. "Welcome home, Tony," he'd said. He watched DiNozzo settle stiffly into the car. He'd forgotten about the week-old injuries to his ribs and stemmed the urge to ask if he was all right. Very little was "all right" about any of this, but Gibbs hoped getting Tony home would help him begin to heal.

"It's probably going to be stuffy in here," Tony said, opening the door and bringing Gibbs back into the present.

The lead agent smiled. "I doubt that."

Tony walked into the apartment and blinked at the cool night air coming through the open windows. His chest tightened at the sight of his familiar living room and he turned to Gibbs. "Thanks for letting me come here, Gibbs. I know you'd be more comfortable at your house."

Gibbs looked uncomfortable—but it was because of the open gratitude in Tony's eyes. He said gruffly, "Not about me being comfortable, DiNozzo. Figured you'd want to come home."

Tony smiled softly, then sighed. "I'm starving. I doubt there's anything here, though. I pretty much chucked everything before I left."

Gibbs was shaking his head, a small smile on his face. "Abby was here," he said, as if that explained it all. And it did. "Go sit before you keel over. I'll heat up the casserole Ducky dropped off."

Gibbs said it casually but he didn't miss the flicker of emotion in Tony's eyes at his friends' kindness.

Their late-night dinner took a bit longer than normal because of Tony's clumsiness with his splinted wrists, and the young agent didn't miss that Gibbs ate slowly, too, matching his pace. Tony knew it was just another in a long line of kindnesses his friends had showed him and he tried not to feel guilty. Part of him knew they would stand behind him against Vance on the attack, but his long-standing insecurities made him wonder if they really did believe him. _Of course they do. Shut up, DiNozzo. How dare you doubt them after everything everyone is doing for you? _

Tony watched from the table as Gibbs cleaned up after dinner and would have smiled at the strange domesticity of Gibbs in his kitchen if he hadn't been so tired. _Damned blood loss_, he thought, wondering if he'd ever feel strong again. It wasn't like they hadn't replaced what he'd spilled all over that scratchy carpet. With his head this messed up, all he really wanted was to go for a long run—or pound the piss out of a punching bag with Vance's face taped to it. He glanced down at his wrists and thought, _That's not happening anytime soon. _Even if his wrists weren't damaged, he wouldn't be punching anything anytime soon anyway. His right hand was still swollen and painful, and he was beginning to wonder if something was really wrong with it.

Tony noticed Gibbs watching him stare at his hands and said quickly, "Want to play some cards or something?"

"You don't have to entertain me, DiNozzo," he said. He ran appraising eyes over his agent. "You look tired. Take your painkillers and go to bed?"

Tony hesitated. He was really sick of sleeping even though he was exhausted all the time, and he didn't think he'd be able to anyway. Not with the zillion thoughts zinging through his fuzzy head. It was bad enough that they hadn't yet found the people responsible for his current condition, but Vance's accusation had completely pulled the rug out from under him. He mostly just wanted to stop thinking.

Gibbs seemed to sense his struggle, as usual, and he said, "Okay, Tony. You got cards around here?"

Tony nodded to a drawer near the sink and waited until Gibbs was seated across from him and looking at him. "Thanks, Gibbs," he said quietly. "This is all way outside your responsibilities as my boss. I really appreciate it."

Gibbs looked uncomfortable and Tony almost regretted his words until Gibbs said, "Those are really good drugs, aren't they?"

Tony smiled. "Really good."

They played several hands, keeping the conversation to relatively safe topics—old cases, movies, sports. Tony was having a hard time holding his cards, but Gibbs wasn't about to say anything or offer help and embarrass him. But he drew the line when Tony flinched for the tenth time upon laying down almost as many winning hands. He knew Tony had a good poker face, but wow…

"Your wrists bothering you?" he asked, keeping his tone carefully casual.

"No," Tony said, and he shook his head, seeing the look Gibbs gave him. "But my hand still hurts like hell."

Gibbs glanced at the limb, the hand still covered to the knuckles by the heavy gauze. He saw the swelling in Tony's little finger and the purplish-green bruises peeking out from under the dressing. "Must have been a hell of a punch, DiNozzo," he commented, sounding somewhat appreciative.

Tony gave him a small smile. "Nah, he just had a really hard face."

Gibbs smiled, getting up and moving to the freezer. He found a baggie and some ice and returned to the table, eyeing Tony's tired, pale face. "Let me see it," he said, banking on the agent being too exhausted to argue.

And he was right. Tony nodded and Gibbs carefully peeled back the gauze, whispering, "Shit, DiNozzo. You did get this x-rayed, right?"

Tony nodded again. "Benny made me."

Gibbs grinned, thinking about the kind young cook who had done so much for his friend. "I knew I liked him."

"They said it wasn't broken," Tony said, wincing when Gibbs gently prodded the swollen joint.

"Can you straighten it?"

Tony tried, swallowing a groan at the pain from the tiny movement.

"That's a no," Gibbs said, replacing the dressing and meeting Tony's eyes. It wasn't a question, but he asked, "Will you let Ducky look at this tomorrow?"

"Since you asked so nicely," Tony said, his half-smile fading. "About New York, Boss. I don't want to go."

Gibbs frowned, leaning back in his chair and studying Tony's face. "Why not?"

"I don't know," Tony said, trying not to squirm under Gibbs' icy blue stare. It made him want one of those lead gowns they draped you with for x-rays. But he wasn't sure even _that_ could protect his soul from the laserlike gaze.

Gibbs waited, silently telling Tony that wasn't good enough.

He sighed. "It might not look so good, Gibbs. Vance thinks I did this to myself and I go running straight from the hospital to my mother's grave. We can't prove I didn't do this and I'd rather not give him any more ammunition."

"We can't prove it _yet_," Gibbs corrected. "You want to go. We're going, DiNozzo. _After _Ducky checks out your hand, and _if_ you feel up to making the drive."

"But Gibbs—"

"No buts, DiNozzo," Gibbs said sharply. He narrowed his eyes, but his tone softened slightly. "Listen, Tony. If it makes you feel any better, there's another reason we should go. I'll be taking a couple of vacation days and Vance can't give the team any active cases while I'm gone. They'll be able to focus on yours this way."

Tony frowned and Gibbs wondered how long it would take for the exhausted agent to give in.

"Okay," Tony conceded finally. Gibbs' estimate was off by about ten seconds. "We'll go."

Gibbs smiled. "Good. Now come on, you need to rest."

Tony got slowly to his feet and stuffed down his embarrassment when he swayed slightly. Gibbs just took his elbow and let him steady himself before releasing him.

"There is one other condition for us going tomorrow," Gibbs said, not waiting for Tony to comment. "We can't go if Ducky kills me for springing you without consulting him."


	30. Chapter 30

"My goodness, Anthony," Ducky breathed the next morning, holding Tony's hand gently in his soft, warm one. He had just pulled the gauze back and was examining the swollen knuckles, eliciting a hiss of pain from Tony at the slightest contact with the damaged joint. "Why didn't you say anything about this?"

Tony lifted a shoulder. "I didn't think it was that bad."

Ducky gave him a pointed look. "You're on pain medication for your wrists and this still hurt. I would say that's cause for concern." He shook his head. "At any rate, let's get an x-ray of this and make sure those doctors on the Seahawk didn't miss something."

Gibbs watched silently as Ducky took the x-ray, and he wondered if he should feel bad for almost smiling at the familiarity of the scene even after so much time apart: Tony with some random job-related injury, Ducky telling some random yet oddly appropriate story. The smile faded when he realized he wasn't surprised when Tony flinched not at the pain of Ducky's gentle positioning of his hand but at his softly murmured apology for hurting him.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Gibbs moved closer to the lightbox as Ducky flipped the lights on. He made a rude noise as the x-ray lit up. "I may not be a doctor," Gibbs said, "but I'm pretty sure that line there means it's broken."

Tony turned, frowning at his coworkers. "I really did get it checked out, Boss," he said, sounding nervous.

Gibbs picked up on it and knew the last thing DiNozzo needed was his not believing him on this. It would only lead to doubts springing up from the seeds Vance had so cruelly planted. "I know, DiNozzo. Maybe they just missed it?" Gibbs said, looking at Ducky.

The doctor shrugged. "That's a bad break, Jethro. I doubt it." He moved to a filing cabinet and pulled out an envelope. "I have your records from the ship that they sent when… well, earlier. Let's take a look at the original film."

He slid the x-ray up next the current one and frowned. Gibbs could clearly see there was no break. "What the hell's going on here, Duck?"

Ducky was still studying the films and he blinked suddenly, looking back at Tony. "What hand was it that you broke back in Philadelphia? When you punched your partner?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at that as Tony's cheeks flamed red. "My right," he answered, giving Ducky a "gee, thanks" look.

Ducky nodded. "That's what I thought. There's no evidence of that break on your film from the ship."

"A mix-up?" Tony asked.

"Your name is clearly marked," Ducky said. He could practically see Gibbs' anger. "Someone switched your films."

"Why would…?" Tony looked confused and upset, and Gibbs knew the drugs were affecting his usually sharp mind.

"To hurt you," Gibbs said, furious. "To keep you hurting after that fight. What's the name of the doctor who examined you?"

Tony thought for a moment. "Doug Lowe, he's a corpsman." Tony's eyes narrowed as he remembered. "He didn't fight me when I told him I didn't want him to splint it. I should have—"

"Not your fault, DiNozzo," Gibbs barked, but Tony knew the anger wasn't directed at him. His lowered his voice and asked, "You okay waiting a bit to leave? I want to talk to Ziva and McGee, and I've got something I need to take care of first."

Tony nodded. "Sure, Gibbs."

"Where are you going, Jethro?" Ducky called after him as he stalked toward the door.

"To tell Vance he's a self-righteous jackass."

Ducky turned back to Tony with a bemused expression. "I hope he doesn't use those exact words."

Tony smiled faintly even though he was feeling deeply unsettled by what had been done to him. The thought of a doctor purposely letting him suffer like that was bad enough, but that it was Lowe who had done it after he'd gone out of his way to help the man made him sick.

Ducky sensed his discomfort and decided to distract him. "It's another boxer's fracture. And my apologies about letting your fight with your partner slip." Ducky winced. "I hope it doesn't come up during that long car ride of yours with him."

Tony shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Ducky. Gotta have something to talk about on the way." He paused. "Actually, I hadn't even thought about that. This could be bad..."

"When in doubt, dear boy," Ducky said, patting his arm, "fake sleep."

Tony smiled and Ducky was glad to see it. The young man had been so quiet—and rightly so—since the revelation. It made the doctor seethe to think of a colleague mistreating a patient entrusted to his care like that. And to do so on purpose just infuriated him more.

Ducky met Tony's eyes and he asked gently, "May I unwrap your wrist? I think a cast would best immobilize both the broken bone and the laceration. We'll have to redo it when we remove your stitches, but I think you'll be more comfortable this way."

"Sure, Ducky," Tony said, keeping his annoyance out of his voice at the thought of a bulky cast. He was actually somewhat relieved. No one would look at a cast and think he'd tried to kill himself. "Whatever you think is best."

Ducky eyed him, having expected a struggle. He studied Tony's face, looking for signs of fatigue, and was relieved to find that the exhaustion seemed to have lifted for the moment and he had some of his color back. As shocked as he'd been when Jethro told him he'd allowed Tony to leave the hospital, he knew it was probably best for the young man's mental state. And Ducky knew Gibbs wouldn't let him push it too much physically. Gibbs wouldn't hesitate to order DiNozzo to bed if he got too tired—and Ducky knew DiNozzo would comply. The young agent never disobeyed direct orders from his boss.

"All right, then," Ducky said. "I just didn't want to upset you if you didn't want me to see the wounds."

Tony blinked in surprise. "You haven't seen them?"

Ducky shook his head. "Jethro refused to leave your side once we returned, and I didn't think that was something he needed to see at that time."

A blush crept across Tony's face as he imagined Gibbs glued to his bedside. He felt a glimmer of something else and it took him a moment to realize it was some combination of warmth, safety and happiness. Ducky gathered his supplies and returned to Tony, pulling up a stool and settling in beside him.

He laid a soft hand on Tony's forearm and met his eyes. "Are you ready?"

Tony swallowed the lump in his throat at Ducky's gentle kindness and he nodded. Funny how he felt soothed by the doctor's gentleness whereas he would have been freaked out by the same coming from Gibbs. Ducky's touch was delicate as he unwrapped the gauze, revealing both the damaged knuckles and the long, sutured wound.

Tony watched Ducky frown and take a deep breath, and he wondered what Ducky's physician's mind was thinking about the ugly injury.

So he was wholly unprepared when Ducky looked up at him with sorrow and warm compassion in his eyes and said, "I am so sorry, Anthony. You deserve so much better than this."

Tony jerked his hand out of Ducky's and stumbled backward, choking on the sob that caught in his throat. The tears gathering in his eyes didn't fall, but he was gasping as he choked out, "Ducky, please, don't—"

Ducky stood stock-still, blinking in surprise at Tony's visceral reaction to his words. He wasn't sure what to say and they simply stared at each other for a long moment before Tony burst out laughing. Ducky found himself smiling even as he watched the injured agent blink tears out of his eyes.

He was about to say something about it being unhealthy to cover pain with humor, but he realized that his laughing was at least some sort of release for the intense emotions he had been drowning in since awakening in the hospital.

"Oh hell, Ducky," Tony said, an arm wrapped around ribs sore from laughing so hard. "Please don't tell anyone you almost made me cry."

Ducky just shook his head, still smiling. "Ah, they wouldn't believe me anyway," he said. He reached out and touched Tony's arm, nudging him back to the table. "Gibbs, maybe. But not me."

Tony sat, still grinning and wondering if he'd lost it completely. He didn't care. He actually felt a little better, and he let Ducky examine his wounds—in both wrists—apply an antibiotic salve and rewrap the left one. He saw Ducky frown as he prodded the swollen knuckle. "What's up, doc?"

Ducky half-smiled, but he was obviously disturbed by something.

"What's wrong, Ducky?" Tony asked, a little nervously.

Ducky's frown deepened but he didn't look up. "I'm sorry, Tony."

Tony looked confused. "Didn't we just do that?"

Ducky shook his head. "I knew your hand was injured, and I should have looked at the injury more closely. If I had, I would have known there was no way you could have cut your left wrist so deeply with your hand that badly damaged." He sighed. "It probably would not have affected you much, considering your unconscious state, but it would have saved everyone a lot of grief. I missed it."

They looked up at each other at the same time.

"Vance."

Ducky darted for the phone to call Gibbs.

* * *

Gibbs took a deep breath and opened the door to the director's office. He tried to force himself to be calm and not enjoy this too much.

"Gibbs," Vance greeted him, eyeing him warily. "If this is about your request for vacation leave, don't think I don't know what you're doing."

Gibbs was silent, waiting for Vance to finish the sentence.

He did. "But there's nothing I can do about it. So tell your team to make this joke of an investigation quick."

Gibbs smiled, a glint of pure pleasure thawing his icy blue eyes. "We have new evidence—and it's not even remotely funny, _Director._"

"What new evidence?" Vance asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"The doctor who treated Tony after the fight he broke up hid DiNozzo's broken hand from him. A Corpsman Doug Lowe," Gibbs said, trying not to smile. "I want his ass hauled off that ship and brought in for questioning."

Vance just smiled, raising an eyebrow. "_That's_ your evidence?" he asked incredulously. He smirked. "Sounds like DiNozzo's got a case for malpractice, not attempted murder."

Gibbs ground his teeth in frustration, staring at the director as if with new vision. "What's your deal with him, Vance?" he asked, his voice just below a shout. "I know you'd rather have more McGees and fewer agents like me and DiNozzo, but too bad. Tony's one of the best investigators I've ever worked with. And even the dumbest investigator could see that he didn't do this to himself. No alcohol in his system, a threatening letter, a cabinet full of sailors he'd busted for one thing or another, no backup, and a doctor who purposely misdiagnosed a broken hand to keep him in pain and vulnerable. What more do you need? A signed confession?"

"That would be nice," Vance said, having the audacity to smile. "But you just said it for me, Gibbs. 'Misdiagnosed.' Happens all the time."

Gibbs gaped at the arrogant prick, ignoring the buzzing of his phone in his pocket. "His name is marked clearly on an x-ray that isn't his. Someone switched the films. How can you not see that for what it is?"

"Or it was a clerical error," Vance said, shrugging.

Gibbs' eyes were adamantine, matching his steely voice when he asked, "Do I need to get someone over your head involved? The SecNav, maybe?"

Vance scoffed. "And make yourself look like a conspiracy nut? Sure. Be my guest."

Gibbs knew he had to leave before he leaped over the desk and choked the self-righteous asshole. He stormed to the door but stopped before opening it. "You sent him out there to punish him for Jenny," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Do you think he's suffered enough now?"

Vance surprised him by looking almost contrite for a split-second, but he didn't speak.

"Whatever your deal is here, Vance, whatever your ulterior motives, I'm going to find them, and when I do, you're gonna wish you'd never screwed with my agent."


	31. Chapter 31

Gibbs made his way slowly back down to autopsy. His head was reeling, his mind racing. He felt slightly sick. And it was mostly because he was going to have to go tell Tony that the nightmare wasn't over yet—not by a long shot. Their horrorshow rollercoaster had just pulled them up to a freeing high with a glorious view only to drop them back down screaming into another pit of hell.

He wondered if the ride would ever end.

He shook the thoughts from his head as he approached the pressurized doors of autopsy, knowing this was the one thing that could _not_ happen. His attackers' going free was the one thing that might actually break DiNozzo beyond repair. He would not let that happen—no matter what it took.

Gibbs stopped short at the sight beyond the glass doors. His heart skipped a beat at his reunited team standing around in a loose circle, and even though their faces were tense and they were obviously debating something, it was good to see them—all of them—together again.

"Hey, Boss," Tony said, a half-smile on his face. "Look who's back."

Ziva smiled, nodding to Gibbs. She looked tired but thoroughly relieved to be in Tony's presence—with him conscious of her being there. Gibbs was silent, trying to find the best way to phrase the disastrous news.

"What is it, Gibbs?" Tony asked softly, and Gibbs almost smiled despite his frustration. It was times like these that made Gibbs wonder if DiNozzo could read him like a book but simply chose to allow him to remain closed for Gibbs' own benefit.

"He refuses to believe this is all connected," Gibbs said, watching their faces fall like a line of dominoes as he recounted the basics of the heated conversation.

"How…? How could he…?" Ducky murmured, and Gibbs knew it was bad when Ducky was shocked into stuttering silence. From the looks on McGee's and Ziva's faces, they had been filled in on the latest development and knew just how devastating this news was.

"We're screwed," DiNozzo said, still seated on an autopsy table, cradling the new cast to his chest and staring at the floor. "Well, I'm screwed, that is," he corrected bitterly.

"No, Tony," Ziva said, her dark eyes troubled but locking onto his green ones. "We are screwed. We are all in this together."

Gibbs watched DiNozzo carefully, waiting for his customary flinch at the expression of kindness and surprised when it never came.

"Thanks, Ziva," he said quietly.

He was too quiet for any of their liking, but at least he was there with them, alive and conscious and talking. Looking around at the faces of the team, Ducky knew they were all thinking the same thing.

"Gibbs," Ducky said, finding his voice, his thoughts. "I called you to tell you that, upon examining Tony's injured hand, I realized there's no way he could have made the cut to his left wrist. And I apologize because it is my fault that you—all of you—suffered so long with your uncertainty. I could have prevented so much—"

"Ducky," Gibbs broke in. "It's over. We know now."

Ducky nodded, glad that Gibbs had cut him off—because he was afraid he would have rambled his way into speaking a deeply buried, deeply awful truth: _Perhaps if I hadn't been so quick to believe that he did this to himself, I would not have missed it. _

"So you will go to Vance now?" Ziva asked. "And tell him there is no way, and make him let us continue to investigate?"

"No, I'm not," Gibbs said, watching all of their eyes snap to his face. "We will investigate, but we are not involving Vance from this point on."

No one spoke. Three of them were looking at him as if he'd lost his mind, but Tony was watching Gibbs with such utter trust that it made Gibbs' chest tighten. Tony said, "No matter what evidence we bring him—short of a confessing suspect—he's not going to believe it. This is about me, not the investigation."

Gibbs nodded, amazed at his perception even in his drugged, fragile state. A thought teased the edges of his mind, but it was quickly gone.

Ducky looked thoughtful and he said, "That's what I don't understand. He barely knows you, Tony, and yet he's reacting so strongly and so irrationally. It smacks of something personal."

"I don't know why he's doing this," Tony said, sounding suddenly miserable. "I've never done anything to him."

Ducky clapped a hand onto DiNozzo's shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. "Don't worry, my dear boy. We'll get this all sorted out. You've got the best team working on this—your team."

There was a pensive silence.

"Geez, Tony, you sure you didn't do something? Take a leak in his fake plant up there?" McGee said, knowing it sounded an awful lot like something DiNozzo himself would say during a moment like this. McGee's eyes were on his partner, taking in the paleness, the fading bruise on his jaw that had gone a sickly greenish, the way he hugged his immobilized arm close to his body. McGee had noticed that DiNozzo hadn't uncurled his injured fingers once while in the hospital, and now that they were held straight by the plaster, he figured it must be seriously painful. In short, DiNozzo looked hurt and tired and _sad_, and McGee just had to do something to make him smile.

And he did.

"Looked like it needed watering," DiNozzo said wryly, but his voice was still too soft to convince any of them.

Gibbs allowed the banter because it was normal. And they all really needed normal. He said, "We go to Vance when we know everything, when we have perpetrators and proof—" _and possibly dead bodies _"—and he can't do anything but accept it."

His eyes moved from face to face, not leaving each one until he got a nod and had conveyed his conviction that they would find whoever had done this to their teammate.

"But we're still screwed," Tony said after a moment, "because we can't pull Lowe off the ship and interrogate him. There's no way we can do that without Vance finding out."

Gibbs found his eyes roving his senior agent's face again at the clarity of DiNozzo's thought processes and a realization struck with the force of a sucker punch. Tony's drugged fog had evaporated while Gibbs was away, and the reappearance of the lines of strain around his mouth and eyes made Gibbs want to drag him out of autopsy and force the painkillers he knew he'd stopped taking down his stubborn throat.

But he wouldn't. At least not in front of the team.

"We cannot," Ziva said suddenly, her eyes lighting up like fireworks. "But Stick can."

Tony gave her a look that made her heart clench at the familiarity of it. "Okay, no more world travel for you. I can't even sort out that idiomatic mashup."

She shook her head, giving him an oddly gentle glare. "Not an idiom. A nickname. Agent Montgomery told me to call him 'Stick,' but that is not what is important. What is important is that while we cannot get to Lowe to question him, Stick can."

McGee nodded. "And Vance can't complain that he's investigating Tony's case," he added, sounding excited. "Montgomery can question him about the drug-testing angle."

"And slip in some other questions," Ducky said, enjoying watching the team work. He realized he should do it more often. It was as if they shared a single body, each of them one of the senses, all pulling together in different ways to form a complete feel for a situation.

"Lowe and Willis alibied each other," Ziva said, her brain obviously not protesting its sleep deprivation as it continued to connect dots. "That is what was bothering me. Lowe is the Urinalysis Coordinator and Willis is a master-at-arms, responsible for observing the sample collections. A master-at-arms and the UC are bunkmates and claimed to be together the night of Tony's attack. Two essential positions if a drug-testing scam is being run on the ship._"_

They all started speaking at once, each unable to contain his or her excitement and relief at the progress.

"It makes sense that they would be in on the scam together," McGee said.

"Lowe's the UC?" Tony asked. "I wondered who would replace Daly."

"Three people attacked you, Tony," Ziva said. "Lowe and Willis must have been two of them."

"So who is the third?" Ducky asked. "Perhaps someone else who is in on the scam? Who else would be needed?"

"Hey!" Gibbs yelled, cutting into the melee. "Calm down, all of ya, before you start stroking out on me one by one."

"But this is good, Gibbs," Ziva protested, her smile the first genuine one in a long while. "We had nothing and now we are finally getting somewhere."

Gibbs opened his mouth to speak, but Tony beat him to it. "There's a big problem, Ziva," he said, his eyes flat and emotionless again. "Just because Lowe and Willis are bunkmates didn't mean they lied about their alibis. And just because they hold essential positions to run a drug-testing scam doesn't mean they actually are."

"But, Tony—" she began, shocked by both his lightning-quick mood change and his actual words.

"Yeah, Tony—" McGee said, not understanding Tony's sudden somberness. They were _finally_ getting somewhere.

"You want to tell them or should I?" Tony asked Gibbs. The lead agent felt the inflectionless words like a kick in the chest. If this were any other case, the senior agent would be grinning like a maniac, thoroughly content in the knowledge that he'd found the fallacy his teammates had overlooked. But this wasn't any other case, Gibbs reminded himself. This was _his_ case.

"Palamar's drug use is what got us looking into how he was beating the drug testing," Tony said, his patient explaining so at odds with his normally ebullient, boisterous personality. "Lowe wasn't the UC when Palamar was using. You're assuming Lowe and Willis attacked me because they were afraid I'd find out about their scam, but I hadn't even started investigating at that point. Hell, they weren't even _involved_ in any scam at that point, if they are at all."

He watched their faces fall and felt a quick, strong burst of guilt, feeling like the jackass who'd jumped out too soon and ruined the surprise party. He continued anyway, his tone giving away nothing. "If anything, the current agent afloat should be investigating the former UC for possible involvement in how Palamar was getting away with using."

Gibbs watched Tony carefully, waiting for the bitterness at someone else taking over what should have been his investigation, his bust. He was dismayed when it never came.

"What now?" McGee asked after a moment, the listlessness in his voice an audible mirror of Tony's eyes.

For once, Gibbs did not have an answer.

But Ziva was not about to give up. She spoke five languages but apparently did not know the meaning of the word "quit"—in any of them. "So we were asking the wrong question. We just need to ask the right one. Maybe Lowe and Willis are not running a scam, but Lowe _did_ hide the severity of your injury from you. Why would he do that?"

"Jackass," Tony offered darkly, trying to will away the merciless throbbing in his hand. His wrists were starting to burn, and he thought longingly about the painkillers in his pocket. _Screw that_, he thought. _I need to be all here for this. We've got nothing._

"And after you protected him," McGee said. "You lied for him. This doesn't make any sense."

"What does he gain from hurting you?" Ziva asked, her earlier good mood gone up in frustrated smoke. "And he did not even hurt you in the first place."

"This is not a coincidence," Gibbs said. "I don't believe in them."

"Is it even possible that he just messed up?" McGee asked, looking at Ducky.

"No."

Ducky and Gibbs both spoke at the same time, and Ducky moved to the lightbox, flipping on the switch. Tony winced at the reason his hand was filled with such fiery pain, and McGee flinched outright. "Oh, yeah, I guess not." He looked at the x-rays again, checking the alignment of the fingers. "Is that the right hand? I mean, the correct hand, because it is his _right_ hand—"

"Not in the mood for a rousing rendition of 'Who's on First' there, Probie," DiNozzo said, a dull edge to his voice that Gibbs knew was pain, not anger or simple annoyance.

McGee looked upset, though. "Sorry, Tony," he said with a meekness he hadn't displayed in years.

Gibbs heard the tone and stepped in. Enough was enough. And DiNozzo looked like he might collapse if he tried to stand.

"McGee," he barked, "go find everything you can on Corpsman Doug Lowe. Financials, service record, everything. Ziva, you talk to your buddy Stick and see if you can get him to arrange a little chat with Lowe."

"Got it."

"Yes, Gibbs."

Gibbs watched them go and turned back to find DiNozzo glaring at him. "What?"

"We weren't done," Tony said, his voice steely, but Gibbs could hear the threads of pain and exhaustion in it.

"What else ya got, then, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked harshly. He knew DiNozzo hated the pain medication, but he also knew the stubborn agent would be in agony without it. And he knew DiNozzo knew that, too.

"Maybe Lowe didn't switch the x-rays," DiNozzo answered evenly. His eyes might as well have been made of glass for all the emotion they held. "He didn't take them so maybe the one he looked at was the swapped one."

Gibbs blinked in surprise. "Welcome back, DiNozzo," he said, but his voice was still sharp. "Good to see those painkillers aren't affecting your head."

Ducky had been watching the exchange silently, but he tsked and said, "Oh, Anthony."

"I'm fine," Tony grumbled. The doctor just eyed him warily, finally seeing the shaking in his hands.

"You call that fine?" Gibbs asked, raising an eyebrow at the tremors he'd seen all along.

"A fine point I made? Yeah," he returned, his eyes ice. "No one else thought of it. Did you?"

Gibbs scoffed. "Well, good for you. You did your job."

Tony cursed his rapidly increasing weakness. He wanted to hop off the table and storm out, but he knew he'd end up in a heap on the floor if he tried. And he knew Gibbs knew that, too, and that made it infinitely worse. "I wondered how long it would take," he said, his eyes burning into Gibbs'.

"I don't have time for your games, DiNozzo," the lead agent said, returning the angry stare with a matching ferocity. "You got something to say, say it. You wondered how long what?"

The flames licking in his eyes died down almost imperceptibly, but Gibbs saw it. Tony said, "Before you would start acting like you again."

_Okay, that hurt,_ Gibbs thought, but he didn't let his momentary anguish show. He covered it the only way he knew how, and his voice was pure venom. "Good to know you haven't changed a bit. Still hiding behind 'I'm fine' and being too damned stubborn to admit your own weakness."

Ducky stepped between the agents before either of them could draw any more blood. That's the problem with people this close: They know just where to hit to inflict the most damage. "That's enough," he yelled. "Jethro, out. Anthony, you will go lie down in my office. I don't want to hear another word out of either of you."

Gibbs moved to leave, but he didn't miss how hard Tony was leaning on the doctor as he helped the agent off the table. He didn't miss the soft grunt of pain as Ducky's hand brushed his bruised ribs when he put an arm around the unsteady man. He didn't miss the recrimination in Ducky's eyes when DiNozzo's knees almost gave out upon standing.

And he certainly didn't miss the utter nothingness amid the sea of green when he caught Tony's eyes as he turned to leave.


	32. Chapter 32

Gibbs was pacing the hall outside autopsy, giving anyone unlucky enough to pass by a death stare hateful enough to make them scurry away as if they were fleeing the devil himself. His movements were quick, jerky and marked by sudden turns—as were his thoughts. He mostly felt confused. And it only fueled his frustration because it was an emotion with which he was not well-acquainted.

He was furious with DiNozzo even as his heart ached for the young man. He wanted to slap him and tell him to hurry the hell up and get back to normal, but the pain in Tony's haunted eyes stopped him cold every time. He almost laughed out loud as he silently wished the bastards had put a bullet in him, or poisoned that crap that passed for food at sea, or tossed him overboard. _Anything_ but the brutal way they had attacked him—and nearly killed him. Because he knew DiNozzo had little problem with people trying to kill him. They did a dangerous job. They all knew the risks.

But to re-enact his mother's suicide in vicious, ugly detail—Gibbs knew _that_ was the reason Tony hadn't bounced back with all the strength of his formidable character.

Vance's words rose unbidden in his head at the thought of DiNozzo's mother. _How _had_ they known? _Gibbs didn't want to admit it—even with his own inner thoughts—but it was a problem. It's not as if DiNozzo went around telling strangers about his mother's suicide. Gibbs himself hadn't even known about it until a few years ago when he'd picked up an extremely intoxicated DiNozzo from a bar on the first anniversary of Kate's death. Tony, in his drunken stupor, had mumbled something to the toilet about losing every woman he'd ever loved, ever cared about, adding a slurred "but you, Mom, you lost yourself" that Gibbs had pretended not to hear.

The thought of Kate brought up another memory that did nothing to help Gibbs' guilt-ridden torment. It was just an offhand comment thrown out during one of their cases, when Tony was ribbing Kate for something or other and had sworn on his mother's life.

_"Your mother's dead, DiNozzo,"_ he'd said, not thinking anything of it. He hadn't been looking at Tony, either, so he had no idea if he had hurt the young agent with his words, not that DiNozzo would have let it show if he had.

_Guilt._ Speaking of that wicked and utterly useless emotion, Gibbs had to acknowledge that it was a major contributor to his current state—and his unusually gentle treatment of DiNozzo. It happened every time he looked at those bandages covering the wounds that had so unsettled him—sure, he'd been in combat and had seen gruesome injuries, but battle wounds were messy, irregular, chaotic. Tony's wounds were clean, neat, _deliberate_—made with such _care_ to sever all the right blood vessels.

So every time he saw those bandages, he felt the guilt pierce him to his very core because there had been times when he thought Tony had made those tidy wounds himself. And for that doubt, Gibbs wasn't sure he could forgive himself. And so Gibbs touched him, talked more gently to him, tried to wash away the dirty guilt he doubted DiNozzo was even aware Gibbs felt.

And before Gibbs knew it, he had talked himself out of his anger toward DiNozzo and into a loathing toward himself that he hadn't felt in a long time. But before he could sink too deeply into that hole, Ducky came through the pressurized doors of autopsy.

Ducky studied his longtime friend, and having expected seething anger, he was surprised to find Gibbs looking somewhat lost.

"Come, Jethro," he said. "We should talk."

Gibbs wordlessly followed the doctor into a large storage room filled with the many tools of Ducky's somber trade. He shook his head ruefully, thinking how strange it was that anyone else's request to talk would likely send him running with the speed of an Olympian—bad knees or not—in the opposite direction, but for some reason, he was able to be open with Ducky. At least relatively open, anyway.

Ducky seated himself on a spare gurney, watching silently as Gibbs resumed his pacing, looking for all the world like a caged animal in the enclosed space. But he just waited, pulling a page from Gibbs' own book, until the agent began speaking.

And the anger was back when he did. "He didn't die on that damned bloody floor on that ship," he said, still pacing, "but sometimes you wouldn't know it by his eyes. I can't handle that, Ducky. Marines don't give up, I don't give up, and dammit, the old DiNozzo wouldn't give up. And I don't know what to do with this new quiet Tony. He's always hid his emotions; that's nothing new. But he does it with humor, or sarcasm, or that village idiot routine he somehow manages to pull off. It's always something, and seeing that look in his eyes… so empty… so _dead_… It's so wrong. I just hate that. And I hate that I don't know how to _be_ around him."

Ducky listened to the anger melt and drip away, leaving only chilled despair in its wake. He wondered what the team would think about this role-reversal: Ducky silent while Gibbs forced out as many words as in one of the doctor's infamous stories. Keeping in his role, Ducky just nodded, waiting until the agent spoke again.

He did so with an anguish with which Ducky was unfamiliar—and to be honest, rather uncomfortable. "I yelled at him, Ducky. How could I do that to him?"

"You yell at him all the time."

The doctor waited for Gibbs to respond, but he never did. Time to be Ducky again. "Yes, he's been through hell, Jethro, but he's still Tony. You don't break a spirit like his. The best thing is to be as normal as possible, but it is also okay to express your support for him. I'm not saying you need to do so in actual words," Ducky said, smiling slightly, "as that may just scare him more. But the two of you are exceedingly good at nonverbal communication. Use that to your advantage."

Gibbs spoke as if he had barely listened, but Ducky knew better. "He almost died, Duck. We almost lost him."

"We didn't," Ducky said succinctly, sliding from the gurney to put a restraining hand on Gibbs' arm, stopping his pacing in its tracks. "He didn't die. And the sooner you remember that, the easier it will be for you to help him remember that too."

* * *

Tony lay on the couch in Ducky's office, staring at the ceiling and trying to relax, to let the pills he'd barely fought Ducky over do their magical chemical job. In truth, even though he could practically feel the fog creeping back over his brain, he didn't care. The pain in his wrists was agonizing—and it wasn't just the physical discomfort of the damaged tissue that was bothering him. Having skipped the drugs, he had let the pain get so bad it felt like those bastards were right there again with that knife, ripping him open and letting him bleed. Tony closed his eyes, almost feeling the remembered blood pouring from the wounds.

He forced his eyes open and shook his head. He could _not_ let himself go there. Not when he was feeling as mentally shaky as he did following his bout with Gibbs. Not that that was particularly safe mental territory either. He should have known that getting used to a kinder, gentler Gibbs would only cause this magnitude of heartbreak when the real man ousted the impostor. Thinking back, he couldn't remember who had started it or how it had gotten out of hand so quickly, but it didn't matter. It was done, the words said, and there was no taking any of it back.

Tony stuffed down the guilt he felt remembering that it had actually felt good to yell at Gibbs, and it made him realize just how angry he was over the whole mess. But that anger was misplaced, he knew, and that made him feel even more guilty for the things he'd said to Gibbs.

"Tony?"

He jumped slightly at the soft voice, turning his head to find Abby watching him. "Hey."

She stayed rooted to the floor near the half-open door, her face fearful. She whispered, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

He waved her over and watched her make her hesitant way toward him, feeling his guts twist as she took a seat in Ducky's chair instead of at his side like she normally would. _Normal. Now there's a word that should just be stricken from our collective vocabulary. I don't even think I remember what normal feels like._ He saw the uncertainty on her face and wondered if any of them would ever be able to look at him again without that awful undercurrent of trepidation he was actually starting to get used to. _Not with these bandages, _he thought. _And certainly not when they're gone and all they see are the scars. _

"You didn't," he said, realizing he had spaced out and she was just staring at him. "What's up?" he asked, trying for casual and missing that destination by several exits.

"I heard you and Gibbs fighting," she said softly, her eyes unreadable.

He raised an eyebrow. "Really? You're a floor above us, and I didn't think we were that loud."

She winced. "No, I literally heard the fight," she said, not meeting his eyes. "I had my monitor on to ask Ducky something and I overheard. I'm sorry."

He lifted a shoulder and closed his eyes, his exhaustion resettling over him like a blanket. "Don't worry about it, Abby. It doesn't really matter anyway."

"He said some really hurtful things to you, Tony," Abby said, her voice calling up her hesitant face on his closed eyelids.

"Mmmm," was Tony's reply, refusing to acknowledge that. "I wasn't exactly Mr. Nice Guy either."

"But Tony, you're—"

"Don't make excuses for me," he cut in, the sharpness of his voice muted slightly by the fact that he was so tired he could barely stay awake. "You wouldn't have done it two weeks ago so don't do it now. In any other situation, you'd be giving me a piece of your mind for being an ass to your silver fox."

"You're right," she said, the hurt in her voice opening his eyes. She looked upset, and her eyes held the same anger he could longer find in himself. "You want a piece of my mind? Fine. You…"

He waited for her to finish, to unload on him. He wished she would. He deserved it.

She shocked him by coming and sitting beside him, laying a gentle hand against his cheek before tucking herself against his side. He put his arm around her, resting the cast on her black-clad hip. She took his left hand carefully in her right one, squeezing his fingers lightly. He was even more shocked when he felt her silent tears soak into his shirt.

"Abby?"

She sniffled. "I'm sorry. It's just that I've missed you so much, but I'd gladly ship you back to sea if it meant that none of this awful nightmare had happened. I want so badly for everything to be okay again. For _you_ to be okay again." She paused, letting go of his hand to wipe her face before taking his fingers again in her damp grip. "But it's okay if you're not. Okay, I mean. I mean it's okay for you to not be okay because I know you'll get there, eventually. Back to okay, that is. Oh hell, I'm not making any sense."

"It's okay," he said, unable to help the smile that turned up the corner of his mouth.

"Very funny," she said sarcastically, but she was smiling, too.

They were quiet, then, simply enjoying each other's nearness and warmth after so many months apart. He fell asleep to the hypnotic whisper of her breath on his neck.


	33. Chapter 33

"Ha," McGee said, slapping a hand onto his desk in triumph. "I wish Tony were up here to call me 'McGenius' for what I just found."

Gibbs looked up. "I'm gonna call you 'McFired' if you don't just spit it out," he grumbled.

McGee and Ziva exchanged mirrored "Did he just make a joke?" glances, but McGee quickly found his voice. "Sorry, Boss. But I found something, and it's good. I was going over the ship's drug-testing records, and I found an anomaly."

Gibbs almost sighed. "Were you not listening down there?"

"I know, Boss," McGee said, the lack of nervousness in his voice telling Gibbs he'd found something really good. "But Ziva and I were talking, and we realized something. There were three attackers—"

"Knew that already," Gibbs growled, his fight with Tony still weighing heavily on his mind.

McGee ignored him and continued patiently, "And they tried to murder a federal agent—"

"Knew that too. Point?"

"The point, Gibbs," Ziva tried, nodding when McGee cast her a grateful look, "is that attempting to murder a federal agent is not something you can talk your friends into just doing. One petty officer busted for whatever does not go to his bunkmates and ask them to help him kill the agent afloat. They have no reason to take that risk. Three attackers means each man—or woman—must have had some highly vested interest to take the risk of attacking Tony."

Gibbs fought a sigh, but at the same time, he was proud of them for seeing what he had not. It made him realize how distracted he had been trying to focus on both Tony's fragile emotional state _and_ the case.

McGee saw the look—as near to contrition as he figured he'd ever see cross Gibbs' face—and continued, "The only thing we've got right now that makes sense in that new light is the drug-testing scam. Lowe let Tony suffer with his broken hand, and he's small enough to have fit into the closet that night when Tony locked his attackers in."

Ziva spoke next. "And I got some seriously bad feelings with Willis. He was too smug in saying Tony tried to kill himself, and I felt like he was lying about something regarding the fight. I mean, getting into a physical altercation over techniques? It seems a convenient excuse."

Gibbs just nodded, silently telling them to go on.

"So," McGee said, his smile returning, "I was checking the testing schedule, and I found that Henry Stowell was scheduled for a random drug test a few days ago, but someone deleted the results—_and _his name from the list of test subjects."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed. "Stowell?"

McGee nodded. "Yeah, that Stowell, as in the guy Willis fought with, the guy who broke Tony's hand. Well, technically, Tony broke his own hand, but it was on Stowell's face so whatever," he said, tripping over his thoughts in his excitement.

"Did you find the results?" Gibbs asked, giving the young agent a warning look.

"Yeah, positive for steroids."

"But we knew that would be the case," Ziva said, sounding a bit confused at this 'new' piece of evidence. It wasn't surprising, though, considering she could barely keep her eyes open.

"Right," Gibbs said, "but that also means someone else on the ship knew Stowell was on steroids—and didn't want him tossed off the ship for it."

"The same people who rigged the test," McGee said, following Gibbs' logic.

"Meaning Lowe and Willis, according to our UC and master-at-arms theory," Ziva said, understanding. "You think they wanted to keep Stowell around, and Willis picked the fight with him when Tony was nearby, hoping Stowell would injure Tony."

"Or kill him," McGee said. "People freaking out on steroids can cause serious damage, especially since they're generally jacked. Once you get them going, they're practically blinded by the rage."

"So they rig the test for Stowell, wait for the right time, and then Willis provokes Stowell, knowing Tony will have to step in and stop the fight," Ziva said, nodding.

"How would they know when Tony would be in the gym?" Gibbs mused aloud.

"They could have been stalking him," Ziva ventured. "Watching his movements and getting to know his patterns. Stowell was jacked, as you say, McGee, so it would make sense he would be in the gym a lot."

"There's something else, too," McGee said, looking a little uncomfortable. "Abby came to me a while back because she was worried about Tony. She said she sent him with an iPod full of music, but he wrote her back and asked for more because he'd gotten through it all during his runs. She did the math and realized he must be in the gym a lot to have gone through that much music."

"And one only has to look at him to see he has dropped quite a bit of weight," Ziva added with a frown.

"But then Tony subdues Stowell before he can do serious damage," McGee said, trying not to think about how right Ziva was about Tony's physical condition—and what it said about his mental state while he had been on the ship.

"Never underestimate DiNozzo in a brawl," Gibbs said with a smile and a faint hint of pride.

Ziva smiled, but then quickly frowned again. "Why would Lowe hide his broken hand, though? I would think he would want Tony out of commission."

Gibbs thought back to the revelation about the broken hand and answered, "Tony, in true DiNozzo fashion, refused to let him splint it. Lowe probably realized Tony would just work through the pain, and that it wasn't a permanent solution."

McGee said, "And it could be to punish him for not getting his ass kicked. Tony ruined their plan."

They were all quiet for a moment before Ziva said, "Their plan. What we are saying is that this whole thing was to get Tony off the ship, or at least off the job."

"But like Tony said, he wasn't investigating the drug testing yet," McGee said, sounding perplexed. "And he wouldn't have been investigating Lowe anyway."

"Perhaps he saw something or heard something," Ziva offered. "Or Lowe and Willis just thought he did. Or Tony did not realize the significance at the time."

Gibbs nodded, thinking back to the long hours of watching DiNozzo lie unconscious in that hospital bed. "He was unconscious for days. Maybe he doesn't remember it, whatever it was."

"We need to ask him about it," McGee said, thinking about those awful days of uncertainty and glad they were able to simply ask DiNozzo—and get a response.

Gibbs nodded again, but he said, "It can wait. He needs to rest." _Especially after the shouting match we had. _Guilt returned swiftly at the memory of that painful exchange, but he shoved it down and turned his attention back to the case. "So who was it, McGee?"

The young agent just blinked in confusion. "Who was what?"

Gibbs gave him a look. "Who altered the records? If it wasn't Lowe or Willis, then we've got our third attacker."

"Oh," McGee said, blushing to the roots of his hair. "Well, I, uh, I haven't figured that out yet, Boss."

"There isn't a log of that sort of thing?" Gibbs asked dubiously.

"Well, yeah, there is. But whoever this guy is, he's good. He completely covered his tracks. Well, almost," McGee said, unable to suppress his smile. "But he forgot to recode his—"

"Find him, McGee," Gibbs cut him off, not wanting to hear a ten-minute explanation of why they _didn't _have a name. Something clicked in Gibbs' head. "Palamar."

Ziva's eyes snapped to Gibbs' blue ones. "I thought he was cleared."

Gibbs shook his head slowly, unable to get the fury in the young man's eyes out of his head. "McGee just said one of these guys is good with computers. Maybe he switched the duty roster to make it look like Palamar was on."

McGee was nodding. "I'll look into that."

"Palamar being involved would make a lot of sense," Ziva said, rubbing her palms against her tired eyes. "He could be the link between the old UC and the new, between the two testing scams."

"Speaking of UCs," Gibbs said, turning to Ziva, "did Stick get anywhere with Lowe?"

She frowned. "No, same story. Nothing new."

She looked so defeated and exhausted that Gibbs said, "Was worth a shot."

They were all silent, except for McGee, who was typing madly. Ziva sighed and finally said what they were all thinking. "As good as this is, it is all just speculation."

Gibbs couldn't help but agree with her. "We need solid proof." He looked at Ziva's pale face and thought about ordering her down to Abby's lab to take a nap. He knew she would refuse so he simply said, "Ziva, find Palamar. He has to be off the ship by now, and we need to talk to him—discreetly. And while you're waiting, go over the financials on Lowe and Willis. If they're running a scam and willing to kill over it, I doubt it's just so they can get high on weekends. There has to be money involved."

"On it," she said, resolve replacing the tiredness in her dark eyes.

"We don't go to Vance until we have all three dirtbags and evidence linking them to the attack," Gibbs said, hoping they weren't wrong about the link between the testing and the attack, and simply saving Stick some time in solving the drug-testing mystery.

Ziva frowned, looking around the squad room. "Speaking of Vance, should we even be having this discussion here? He will not be happy if he overhears us."

"He's at a bioterrorism conference for the rest of the week," McGee said, looking up and smiling that same confident grin again.

"Well, that is very lucky for us," Ziva said, frowning a little at his somewhat odd smile.

"Yep," McGee said. "Thank the deputy director of Homeland Security. Or actually his secretary, for 'forgetting' to send the original email last week requesting his attendance. But she remembered yesterday and sent it. With her apologies, of course. I mean, there are so many people from so many agencies who attend these things, after all. And with all the last-minute additions and scheduling changes…"

Ziva eyed him. "You did not."

McGee grinned. "I might have."

"You did not."

"I did."

"McGee," Gibbs barked, making the agent's grin falter. He narrowed his eyes. "How did you know Vance wouldn't make a call to the deputy director about the mix-up?"

McGee paled. "I, uh, didn't."

Gibbs just turned back to his monitor with a smile. "Nice work, McGee."


	34. Chapter 34

Gibbs returned to autopsy, glad Ducky was out on a call and he wouldn't need to have another deep conversation—before the deep conversation he was going to have with DiNozzo. He turned the corner into Ducky's office and stopped short, a smile touching his lips at the sight of Abby curled against Tony's side, her black-clad leg draped over his thigh. He knew they were strictly friends, but the strength of their bond warmed his heart in a place that had been cold far too long.

He watched DiNozzo's even breathing for a moment and was surprised at how reassuring it was, even though Tony was long since out of danger of dying. He chalked it up to some leftover anxiety from watching DiNozzo suffer through the plague. His eyes moved to Abby, her dark head resting in the crook of Tony's shoulder, and Gibbs wondered how the girl managed to sleep in the middle of the day with probably a half-dozen Caf-Pows surging through her system.

"Abby?" he said quietly.

He blinked in surprise when DiNozzo answered instead. "She's out cold, Boss," he said softly, his eyes still closed and a smile curving his mouth.

"How, I have no idea," Gibbs said, noting the lack of tension in his agent's voice. He selfishly hoped Abby had soothed the anger out of him so they wouldn't have to do the awkward post-fight conversation.

"Probably had enough caffeine to make a mere mortal's heart explode," Tony agreed, his voice reassuringly pain-free. Gibbs made a mental note to ask Ducky how he managed to make DiNozzo take the painkillers he so fiercely despised. "But she had a rough week," Tony continued. "I know I caused you all a lot of pain lately."

Gibbs frowned and took a breath to clear the frustration from his voice. "Not your fault, DiNozzo. You know that."

Tony was quiet for a moment. "Still must have sucked for you, though. And I got to sleep through it all."

Gibbs laughed softly. "Yeah, well."

"Mmmmmm," Abby sighed, shifting against Tony's side, her hand tightening on his. "Way to break my nap, Gibbs."

"Don't know how can sleep with all that caffeine in you anyway."

"Tony's comfy," she said, gingerly disentangling her body from his. "And warm."

DiNozzo grinned, if a bit shakily. _Maybe not for long. Right, Gibbs? You're not gonna kill me after all this… Are you? _

Abby pecked Gibbs on the cheek as she left, saying she had to go catch up on her work. Gibbs watched her go and turned back to DiNozzo. Their eyes met briefly and had a conversation all their own.

Finally, Tony said, "We should get going. Traffic'll be a bear if we wait much longer."

Gibbs frowned, and Tony was suddenly terrified he had changed his mind about taking him to New York to visit his mother's grave. Despite his hesitations and protests, he really wanted to go, to touch the smooth headstone and feel some sort of physical connection to his lost mother besides the identical wounds in his wrists. His fears were confirmed when Gibbs said, "We're not going anywhere but back to your place, DiNozzo."

Tony felt his chest go tight, and he felt the calm Abby had brought evaporate like morning dew as his long-standing insecurities rose within him. _You messed up, you idiot. How could you even think he would still want to do that for you after the jackass you were to him. You don't have anyone to blame but yourself. _

"Oh, okay," he said, and despite all his skill, all his years of practice, he was unable to keep the pieces of his broken heart out of his voice.

Gibbs took in the sadness, the downcast eyes, and realized what DiNozzo thought he meant. _Who did this to you, Tony? Who hurt you so badly that you automatically assume people are going to let you down? That I would abandon you over a few angry words? _He forced an even tone. "Tony, we're still going," he said, watching Tony's eyes come up. "Just not tonight. You've had enough for one day, and Ducky will kill me if I shove you in a car for four hours without letting you get some real sleep first."

"But, Gibbs, please? I can sleep on the way," he said, reminding Gibbs strongly of Kelly's hopeful pleas to stay up past her bedtime.

Maybe that was what made him give in. "Okay," he said finally, but he continued sternly, "but we leave now and your ass goes straight to bed when we get there."

* * *

Ziva dragged McGee away from his computer for two reasons: One, she was tired and didn't want to interrogate Palamar alone and risk missing something; two, he was getting so frustrated trying to find the hacker that she was afraid he might go McPostal and take out half the agency. _Though that might be an acceptable price to pay if Vance happened to be included in that half._

It had been awhile since they had done an interview in tandem, but they fell into their respective roles like reunited lovers falling into bed. McGee sat facing a completely unfazed Carlos Palamar while Ziva sharpened one of her many knives in the corner.

McGee took in Palamar's baggy clothes, bandana and fresh ink, but he simply said, "Thank you for your time, Mr. Palamar."

"Mister," Ziva scoffed from the corner, dragging the blade across the honing steel and eyeing Palamar's attire. "Since when do we show respect to gangbangers?"

McGee tried not to smile, both in amusement at her predatory glare and in relief that she hadn't called him a "gangknocker" or some similarly amusing slip-up. He really liked it when she played her Mossad assassin role, but he gulped slightly when he remembered she_ was _a Mossad assassin. And that's why he played good cop—so Palamar didn't seize the knife and slit his own throat in abject terror of her dark intensity. _It's all about balance, really. Like properly sharpening a blade. _

"Since _our guest_ may be able to help us find the dirtbags who tried to kill Agent DiNozzo," McGee answered calmly, watching Palamar watch the knife's slow movements in Ziva's capable hands.

"I already spoke with Agent Gibbs, homes," Palamar said, dragging his eyes back to McGee's face with a grin. "That guy's got some serious anger issues, my friend."

"And now you are speaking with us," Ziva said, drawing Palamar's eyes. But hers were still on her blade, her small, deadly hands letting the knife's edge caress the steel with an almost sensual slowness. "And we would like to know where you were the night Tony was attacked. He is my friend, you know. My very, very good friend."

Palamar's gaze fled Ziva's glare and landed back on McGee, who leaned back casually. "Now, Ziva. You know as well as I do that our guest was on duty that night. The roster proves that."

Ziva snorted delicately. "A list on a computer as proof?" she said, her tone incredulous but still low. She smiled, baring her perfect teeth as menacingly as a Doberman. "I may not be able to hack a system and change a roster, but I can certainly hold a knife to the throat of someone who can. As a matter of fact, I have." She paused, dark eyes narrowing thoughtfully on the blade in her hand. "This knife, perhaps. I do not remember."

McGee shook his head. "Ziva, I told you. No one hacked the log." He tried not to smile as she faked a very convincing pout. "And several witnesses swore they saw our guest on duty that night. They were with him when word got out about Agent DiNozzo."

She blinked, doe-eyed. "So he held a knife to many throats?"

"Thirteen?" McGee asked skeptically.

She shrugged, as if considering the tactical logistics of doing just that, and McGee watched Palamar's complexion go impossibly pale.

"I'm sorry, Ziva. I know how much you care about Agent DiNozzo and want to seek justice for him, but our new friend here was on duty. End of story."

"Not want. Need, Agent McGee," she corrected. She smiled again. "And will."

"Okay," Palamar burst out, and McGee thought he was going to confess right then and there even though he knew the sailor actually had been on duty and couldn't have hurt Tony. "You've played your little game," he said, not sounding particularly convinced it _was_ a game, "but what does this have to do with me?"

McGee opened his mouth to speak, but Ziva cut him off. She had turned her attention back to the knife and she said casually, "You were a very naughty boy on the Seahawk, gangbanger. Doing drugs, as I recall. I would like you to tell me how you got away with using for so long without getting caught."

The words said Ziva was making a suggestion. Her eyes did not.

And Palamar saw it. But he held his ground, his voice only wavering momentarily. Funny how he sounded much stronger when not looking at the blade. "I don't have to tell you shit, chica. I got busted on a Navy ship, you are a Navy cop, and I am no longer a Navy sailor. Sorry, baby girl, but no deal," he finished smugly.

Ziva moved like a cheetah, all speed and grace and deadly economy of strength. She buried the knife into the table mere centimeters from Palamar's splayed fingers, leaned across the table and breathed, "I am an officer of Mossad." She watched him blink in shock and fear as she pulled the knife from the table. Her touch was delicate, whisper-soft again as she tapped the blade's needlelike tip, drawing a bead of bright red blood from the soft pad of her finger.

"My partner Tony is a Navy cop, as you say." She licked the blood from her fingertip with decidedly feline satisfaction. "He bled for his job, which sometimes involves protecting scum like you whether we like it or not. So I do not want to hear your pathetic excuses—and I will not tolerate your lies. Tell me how you beat the tests."

McGee watched Palamar shudder as he suppressed one of his own.

Ziva always had been good with props.

Palamar looked away finally, his eyes snapping back after a split-second, though, as if he were afraid she would bury that knife in his chest next. McGee almost felt a twinge of sympathy for the guy. Almost.

"I had a deal with Eddie. Edward Daly, the Urinalysis Coordinator. Every time I had to take a piss test, I would let him know, grease his palm with the Benjamins, and he would switch out my sample with a clean one of his own."

Ziva smiled.

McGee just said, "So it must have been terrifying for you when Daly got caught hooking up with that petty officer and got himself kicked off the ship. There went your savior."

Palamar was shaking his head, and Ziva felt a little flare of excitement, hoping he would need some more convincing to speak the truth. She barely covered her shock when he said, "No, homes. I was screwed before that even happened. By the time he got himself caught with Hottie Hannah, he had already told me he wasn't going to fix any more tests for me. He said the money wasn't worth the risk anymore."

McGee and Ziva exchanged lightning-quick glances, but Palamar didn't notice and just continued, "Then Daly got tossed for sleeping with Hannah, which I don't really get. I mean, I get why he did her, because she's a hot piece of ass, but she was always talking about this boyfriend of hers like he was a god or something. But anyway, I went to Eddie's assistant Doug, Doug Lowe, who became the new UC, and I asked him to help me. He said no."

"You just flat-out admitted your drug use to the UC?" Ziva asked, incredulous but quiet, keeping in her role. The comment about Squire had her attention, too, but she couldn't figure out what it meant—not that anything about that incident made sense.

Palamar shrugged. "I was screwed anyway," he said. "I had to do something, to take the chance."

"He say why he wouldn't help you?" McGee asked. "I'm sure you offered him good money."

"Yeah, man. He said he wouldn't lie to Agent DiNozzo," Palamar said, looking disgusted. "Daly never liked to deal with the agent afloat—he's a shitty liar—so he always just signed the paperwork and made his assistant do the face-to-face stuff. I guess Lowe and Agent DiNozzo got to be pretty close. Maybe they even—" Palamar stopped short, his lascivious, smart-mouth grin erased instantly by Ziva's laserlike warning glare.

"So you knew Lowe was gay," McGee asked, giving Ziva a warning look of his own. He could see she was seething at Palamar's insinuation.

Palamar blinked. "I didn't know for sure," he said, his head falling a little to the side as he thought about it. "But it makes sense. There was always something off about that guy."

McGee decided to leave Bubba out of the conversation, but the thought of the man made him ask, "So you must have been angry when you got ratted out about your drug use."

"Hells yeah, I was pissed when Lowe ratted me out to Agent DiNozzo," Palamar said, watching McGee and Ziva exchange a look at the mistake. Palamar's eyes widened as he misread the look. "That's what this is all about, isn't it?"

The agents waited.

"Okay, fine, whatever. I admit it," Palamar said, eyeing Ziva and her knife again. "I left that threat under Agent DiNozzo's door. But I swear to God, I never touched him. I was on duty that night and all those people saw me. I did not attack him. I just wanted to scare him. And when the captain came and told me I was done, I didn't even care anymore. I'm making a shit-ton more money back home than I ever would have as a sailor," he added smugly.

Ziva picked up a legal pad and tossed it at Palamar, wiping the grin off his face and making him flinch. "Write it down," she barked. "All of it. Every detail."

She followed a practically vibrating McGee from the room.

They had to call Gibbs.


	35. Chapter 35

Gibbs drove, noting with a smile that DiNozzo had kept his word and was out like a light. He was reclined slightly, his head resting on a pillow against the window, another on his lap to prop up his damaged wrists, a suggestion made by Ducky, who was not exactly happy with Gibbs for caving. But Gibbs reassured him—out of Tony's hearing, of course—that he wouldn't let his young agent overdo it. And he meant it. The last thing he wanted was for DiNozzo to end up back in a hospital.

Gibbs checked the clock as darkness fell around the speeding car, figuring they had about an hour left to go. Tony had been out cold since before even leaving the District, thanks to some seriously snarled traffic, and Gibbs couldn't help but steal glances at his peaceful face every few miles. He was glad for the peace while it lasted because he knew this trip would be hard on Tony—and not just physically—and Gibbs tried to prepare himself for the wide range of emotions he might come up against. He realized he didn't care if Tony ended up sobbing on his shoulder at his mother's grave, as long as the man showed some sort of emotion. Of all the Tonys that had popped up in the past few days, zombie Tony was by far the worst, the lifelessness in his eyes more frightening than the wounds in his wrists.

There was a chirping sound and Gibbs grabbed at his phone, trying to figure out how to mute the annoying sound before it woke his resting passenger.

"Yeah, Gibbs," he answered, watching Tony stir from the corner of his eye. _Damn_, he thought, noting with a rush of guilt that he was happy that DiNozzo had slept most of the way out of worry for his physical condition as much as for the simple fact that they hadn't had to make awkward conversation.

Long car rides with Tony were always interesting, especially when Gibbs found himself alone with the agent. His boundless energy usually tried Gibbs' patience to no end, but Gibbs realized he would give anything to have that vitality back. And there was also the curious fact that when DiNozzo was relegated to the back seat, he usually ended up puking at some point either during or after the long rides. Gibbs knew the senior field agent could easily pull rank and demand the front seat, and that he chose not to said a lot about him. As did the fact that he had never just admitted to his teammates that he got car sick.

Ziva started speaking in a rush, but he cut her off. "Call me back in ten."

Gibbs watched Tony rouse and pretended he didn't hear the soft groan as he shifted from sleep into what was apparently painful consciousness. He watched Tony press the undersides of his wrists together and pull his arms close to his chest, and Gibbs made a quick exit from the highway into a rest area. He wordlessly got out of the car and went to the nearest vending machine, buying a bottle of water and returning quickly to the car.

He noted with concern that DiNozzo already had the pill bottle out and didn't even bother struggling with the cap himself. He just silently held the small container out to Gibbs, who flicked the top off and shook two pills into Tony's outstretched, bandaged hand.

"Thanks, Gibbs," he said quietly, his eyes closed and his breathing only slightly ragged.

"Anytime," Gibbs answered, busying himself with the map so he could give Tony some semblance of privacy as he battled what had to be intense pain. Glancing at the clock again, Gibbs kicked himself for not paying closer attention to Tony's medication schedule and not waking him sooner. He sensed that this was one of those times when DiNozzo wouldn't appreciate an attempt to comfort him, so Gibbs just stayed silent even though he wanted to touch the younger man, to tell him it would be over soon.

By the time Gibbs had started checking his phone for calls, DiNozzo's eyes were open and he'd stopped pressing his wrists tightly together as if belatedly trying to stop the bleeding.

His voice was only slightly strained when he said, "And thanks for making them wait."

Gibbs nodded. "Figured you'd want to hear what they have to say," he said gruffly.

The phone rang as if on cue, and Gibbs handed it to Tony, who took it in his left hand and switched on the speakerphone.

"Hey, McGoo," Tony answered. "What's shakin'?"

"Tony?" McGee's voice came through the phone. "Is Gibbs with you?"

Their eyes rolled at about the same time, and Tony said, "No, McGee, I booted him out an hour ago and stole his car. Are you calling about the BOLO?"

Tony saw Gibbs grin, and the familiarity of it all made him feel a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the painkillers flooding his veins.

"Whatcha got, McGee?" Gibbs asked, still smiling and feeling relieved that Tony seemed to have shrugged off the worst of the pain.

"We have tons, Gibbs," Ziva's voice came over the line. Tony frowned, not at the words, but at the exhaustion in her voice. He tried not to feel guilty because she sounded thoroughly excited, too, and he wondered if he could allow himself to feel a bit of that excitement as well.

They recapped the interview with Palamar, and the agents could practically _hear_ her blush when McGee recounted her performance. They all laughed when she deadpanned, "What performance?"

"So Palamar left the threat," Tony said thoughtfully. "I wondered why they would leave that note. It didn't make any sense for them to warn me and put me on guard." _As if I could consider anything I did that night "guarded," _he added silently, feeling disgusted with himself. _If only I had locked that damned door…_

"Tony," Ziva said, pulling him from his guilty thoughts. "I read your notes on the Squire/Daly incident. You also think she was raped?"

DiNozzo tried to think through the wool suddenly filling his head. _Damned painkillers. _He scratched his cheek and felt a stab of pain shoot through his wrist. _Okay, okay, I take it back. _"Uh, I don't know," he said slowly, watching Gibbs turn concerned eyes on him. "I couldn't figure it out then and I can't now, either. Something was definitely hinky about the whole deal, though."

"I agree," Ziva said, looking back through the transcript of the interrogation. "Palamar said Squire always talked about a boyfriend. He seemed like he did not understand why she would sleep with Daly if she was constantly going on about this other guy."

"He give a name?" Gibbs asked.

"No," Ziva said, kicking herself mentally. "I should have asked."

"Don't worry about it," Tony said, feeling another flash of guilt. "You sound exhausted."

"I am fine, Tony," she said, sounding a bit unnerved by his concern for her.

"I've got a theory," DiNozzo said after a short silence. "But it might not make any sense because I'm good and doped up right now. But what if Palamar went to Lowe and asked him to fake his drug tests like Daly was doing for him, and Lowe says no, but his brain says yes."

Gibbs gave him a look, but DiNozzo continued, "I mean, he doesn't want to help Palamar for whatever reason, but he realizes there's serious money to be made by rigging the tests. And that crap about Lowe not wanting to lie to me is… well, crap. I barely knew him except to sign paperwork. And I should have known Daly was avoiding me. I should have picked up on that, but I mostly dealt with the masters-at-arms and Lowe.

"Anyway, theory. Lowe realizes he can make money rigging the tests, but not with Daly around watching him. I mean, Daly played that game so he would be quick to recognize it. So Lowe knows that as the assistant, he'd get promoted to UC if Daly gets tossed. So he gets Squire to seduce Daly, knowing Daly's the one who gets booted out if someone finds out. Squire is supposed to cry rape, but then the captain comes strolling by and sees her come out of the room with him at her will. But it accomplishes the same thing. And it explains why we got such strange vibes from her. It was a rape, but in essence, _she _raped _him,_ and she could have felt guilty about ruining his career. Or been worried about her own."

He waited, listening to the silence crackling over the line and cursed himself. "Okay, never mind. That made no freaking sense at all. Well," he corrected, shaking his head bitterly, "it made sense to me. But everything makes sense to me up here on Cloud Nine."

He watched Gibbs watch him and thought he'd jump out of the car and go play in the traffic whizzing by if Gibbs gave him pity when he should have been headslapping him. He was shocked when Gibbs said, "No, actually, it does make sense."

"Just a couple of things," McGee said gently, making Tony want to reach through the phone and headslap _him. _"Why wouldn't Lowe just report Daly to get him tossed so he could take his place?"

"No proof?" DiNozzo ventured.

"Uh, Tony," McGee said uncertainly.

"What?"

"He could just test Palamar and get a positive result, backing up his accusation," McGee said, still gently.

DiNozzo blushed, glad the probie couldn't see him. Gibbs just put a hand on his knee and mouthed "It's okay" to him, and he would have fallen over if he hadn't been sitting. The gentleness would have made more sense to him if he had realized he was shaking with some combination of frustration, pain, exhaustion and excitement. "Oh right. Cloud Nine is, uh, well, cloudy. Sorry."

"Maybe Lowe did not want Palamar, with his MS-13 connections, coming after him," Ziva said, saving them all from the awkward moment. "To bust Daly in that way, he would have to bust Palamar as well."

"Or Lowe didn't want attention drawn to the drug testing," Gibbs said. "If Lowe was going to start running a scam, he wouldn't want to advertise the ease with which Daly got away with his."

DiNozzo was nodding. "Those both make sense," he said. He frowned. "But I think my credentials should be revoked until I come down."

Gibbs just smiled at him, confirming their admission to the Twilight Zone. "One problem though," he said, the smile fading. "What reason would Squire have to participate? If she got caught falsely accusing Daly of rape, she'd be out."

Ziva added, "And she _did_ get caught, in a way. Even if it was only a slap on the wrist, it still went on her record."

"Maybe it was a green reason?" McGee offered.

"Green? As in jealousy?" Tony asked. "Who's jealous of who? Of whom? Whatever, sorry Mrs. Tanner from the seventh grade. I fail."

McGee chuckled, and Gibbs looked at Tony as if he might finally headslap him. "Money, DiNozzo," Gibbs just said, sounding almost amused.

"Oh, right," Tony said, nodding enthusiastically. "Jealousy only works over on Cloud Eight."

Gibbs lifted his hand and smacked Tony lightly on the back of the head. DiNozzo grinned, and Gibbs almost sighed in sheer relief. "Thanks, Boss," Tony said, his grin fading. He mostly looked confused. "Can someone give a quick recap? For those of us only partially in attendance?"

Ziva laughed softly. "Sure, Tony. Daly tells Palamar he will no longer fake his drug tests. Palamar goes to Lowe and asks him to do it. Lowe says no because he realizes he can make money if he is promoted to UC and is free to rig tests for a fee. Lowe pays Squire to seduce Daly and it is goodbye Daly."

She paused. "When Lowe becomes the UC, he gets his bunkmate, Damon Willis, a master-at-arms, in on it, too," she added, realizing that made sense. Another idea popped into her head. "What if Squire's mystery boyfriend is Willis? Lowe asks Willis to help with the scam, and Willis suggests Squire to get rid of Daly."

"And," McGee said excitedly, "while I was looking over the records trying to find the hacker who erased Stowell's test, I found that someone has been changing the testing schedule ever since Lowe took over as UC. They changed certain sailors' testing times, but I couldn't find a pattern yet. I bet if I look again, I'll find that they were changed to coincide with times when Willis would be the master-at-arms responsible for watching the sample collection."

"And there's our third attacker again," Gibbs said. "Our computer guy."

"Or Squire is the third," McGee ventured. "Or fourth. Maybe she didn't participate in the actual attack, but she is small enough to have hidden in the closet."

Gibbs noticed DiNozzo looking at him strangely and hoped McGee's words hadn't conjured painful memories of that night. But Tony surprised him, asking, "Stowell? What about him? Did I miss something or am I really that cracked out?"

Gibbs realized Tony didn't know he'd been set up to break up the fight, and he winced. Now was not really a good time to deliver that kind of news, not when Tony was drugged to the gills and vulnerable, not with the team listening. "I'll explain later. Ziva, McGee, you get anywhere on those financials?"

"No," DiNozzo said forcefully, reading Gibbs' discomfort but not understanding it. "Tell me now."

"Gibbs?" came McGee's voice over the line. "We checked Willis' financials and he's clean. Nothing out of the ordinary for his pay grade. Lowe is going to take a lot longer because apparently he has some family money and there are a lot of accounts and trusts that we need to wade through."

"All right, McGee, Ziva, keep on it," Gibbs said around a yawn. His tone softened a bit. "But make sure you get some sleep sometime, too. I want you two on your toes when we get back."

"Got it."

"Sure, Gibbs."

The connection clicked off, leaving DiNozzo glaring at Gibbs from across the car. "You weren't going to tell me?"

Gibbs fought a sigh, turning and looking out through the windshield at the darkened rest area. "You don't even know what I haven't told you," he said somewhat wearily, wishing for Tony's earlier lightness to return, even if it was drug-induced loopiness.

"Because you haven't told me," Tony said, cocking his head and taking in the dark smudges under his boss's eyes. Shoving down his guilt and abandoning the anger, he asked softly, "Can you tell me now?"

Gibbs outlined the team's earlier discussion, ending with, "We think Willis purposely provoked Stowell when you were nearby, knowing Stowell was on steroids." _Knowing the huge guy would probably hurt you, maybe even kill you._

Gibbs watched Tony's face carefully as he slowly realized what Gibbs hadn't said. Tony ran his left hand over the cast on his right. "They knew I'd have to step in. That I didn't have anyone to back me up against Stowell," he said quietly, turning from Gibbs' intense gaze to stare out the window.

He watched a couple with two small children pile out of an SUV and run for the bathrooms. A smile touched his lips, but he wasn't sure why. He himself had no happy memories of family vacations or long hours on the road, with nothing but singing or games to pass the time. His father flew when he traveled, and he rarely took Tony with him when he did. Even those times did not evoke pleasant recollections.

Gibbs watched Tony watch the family and realized he had no idea what the agent was thinking. "Tony?"

Tony shook his head, turning back to Gibbs with anguish in his eyes. Gibbs was starting to regret agreeing to bring him here, especially tonight, wondering if he should have listened to Ducky. Maybe Tony wasn't ready for the intense emotions that would likely come up during the visit.

But Tony just said, "We've still got a huge problem, Gibbs."

_Just one? _"What's that, Tony?" Gibbs asked, wondering which one he would pick.

Tony's eyes were flat again, holding that black nothingness that made Gibbs feel sick. "Even if our theories are right, even if things played out exactly the way we think they did, all we did was uncover a drug-testing scam. And speculate on the motives of a fight."

Gibbs was silent, but he knew what was coming.

Tony looked broken again. "We still can't _prove_ any of it had anything to do with me."


	36. Chapter 36

Tony did not go back to sleep during the remainder of the drive. They did not speak, except for Tony's completely blank, emotionless, whispered "Home, sweet home" when the welcome sign for the state of New York flashed by. Gibbs just glanced at him, not having the first clue what to say to that. He wondered if Tony even knew he had spoken out loud.

Gibbs just drove, thinking back to Tony's earlier words, and while he hated to admit it, DiNozzo was right. They had a lot of speculations and little proof. McGee had called back to say that the changed testing times did indeed coincide with Willis' schedule, but he still hadn't found who had made the changes. The financials were still up in the air, as well, but Gibbs had ordered the two agents to go home for the night. It was partly because they needed the rest and partly so Gibbs wouldn't feel guilty about putting the case out of his mind in order to focus on getting Tony through the visit.

The lead agent found himself thinking about the case anyway, though, as he realized he had a decision to make. It would be easy enough to pass along the information to Agent Montgomery on the Seahawk, get him to test the sailors whose test times had been changed, and bust the scam wide open. But doing so would also alert Lowe and Willis to their progress and possibly lead them to destroy any evidence there may be of their roles in Tony's attack.

Gibbs knew that if the director weren't hell bent on some strange vendetta against DiNozzo, Gibbs would bust the scam, haul Lowe and Willis in for questioning, and break them on the attack. But he knew Vance wouldn't allow them to even get near enough to the suspects to question them. And there was the small matter of the third attacker… and of Squire's possible involvement.

There were still too many unanswered questions.

And Gibbs tried to block his mind to another nagging question. With Palamar's admission that he had delivered the threat against DiNozzo and with the witnesses proving he couldn't have attacked Tony, that torched one of Gibbs' strongest arguments to Vance that Tony hadn't done this to himself. Gibbs knew Vance could argue away the drug scam because Tony hadn't started investigating it yet. And the theory that Willis provoked Stowell would remain a theory without proof. Even hauling Stowell in for questioning wouldn't bring any concrete evidence. Squire had proved that she was willing to stick to her story no matter what, and that dead end just added to Gibbs' frustration.

And then there was the biggest question of them all. _Just how the hell had they known about his mother's suicide?_

Gibbs about crashed the car when he realized where his thoughts were leading. He glanced over at his silent passenger, taking in the dark circles beneath his eyes, the weight he had lost while at sea. That utter blankness in his eyes haunted Gibbs' thoughts.

_No way,_ Gibbs admonished himself. _No goddamn way he did this to himself. _

_And lied to me about it. No way in hell. _

A thought struck Gibbs with an almost physical blow. _What if he really believes he was attacked? He said he was dreaming before it happened. He was having nightmares. What if he hurt himself without even knowing what he was doing? Oh God, is this why I've been so gentle with him? Did I know all along?_

_No, no way_, Gibbs thought, but the runaway train of his thoughts just wouldn't stop, no matter how hard he tried to slam on the brakes.

_What if he had some sort of break and is ashamed to admit it, and so he made up the story about the attackers. He said they used pillows to restrain him, which was smart of them. But what if there are no bruises because no one was there to hold him down? There were no prints in the office besides his, the medics' and Benny's. Benny didn't see anyone in the corridor, but he had to have just missed the attackers because otherwise, Tony would have bled out too quickly for Benny to have saved him. _

_Oh, Tony, what did you do?_

Gibbs was ashamed of himself for even having the thoughts, for letting Vance's seeds of doubt take root in his mind. _You believed it once, while he was unconscious. Why not believe it now?_

Gibbs shook his head firmly, feeling so disgusted with himself that he felt ill. _Because I don't believe in coincidences. Because there's no way he did this while there just happens to be a major drug-testing scam being run aboard his ship. We have proof of that. _

_Because he's Tony, and he wouldn't try to kill himself. _

_Because he's Tony, and he's not sick. _

_And because, goddammit, he wouldn't lie to me._

Another thought struck Gibbs, dark and disturbing, but not nearly as much as thinking Tony had tried to kill himself.

_You just thought it. The prints, the timing. Benny. He's a big guy. He knew about the nightmares, and Tony trusted him. Could he have done this?_

The more Gibbs thought about that possibility, though, the more he dismissed it. Tony said there were three attackers, and Gibbs fully agreed with McGee and Ziva that no one would participate in such a brutal, risky attack without a seriously vested interest.

Abby had spent hours with the young man and never once found any of his words or actions even remotely hinky—she would have said something if she had even the slightest doubts about him. Ziva and McGee had both mentioned how much they liked him, too. He trusted his team's judgment. And Gibbs recalled the haunted pain in Benny's eyes as he watched over Tony as the agent lay unconscious.

Not to mention the fact that the young cook obviously seemed to adore Tony. He had no motive for hurting him and had been the one to save his life that night.

But because he was Gibbs, he decided to have McGee discreetly check on Benny's whereabouts for that evening. He was, after all, a double-b bastard.

"Gibbs?"

Tony's soft voice jerked Gibbs out of his anguished thoughts, sending a torrent of guilt rushing through him. Because of the young agent's unnatural silence, Gibbs had forgotten Tony was awake. He fought the irrational fear that DiNozzo had somehow heard each and every one of his traitorous thoughts.

"Yeah, Tony?"

"Take a right up here, just past that stand of trees."

It took Gibbs a moment to realize Tony meant the cemetery was nearby. "Tony, no… No way. Not tonight."

"But Gibbs—"

"No, DiNozzo," Gibbs said firmly. He let his tone soften, though, when he saw the sadness in Tony's tired eyes. "You've had a long enough day even if you weren't recovering from shock and massive blood loss. You look exhausted, you need to rest, and we can do this tomorrow." He paused, glancing at his friend. "Please?"

"Pulling out the big guns, aren't you?" Tony asked, and while his tone was somewhat defeated, there was a hint of a smile in his voice.

Gibbs considered that a major victory and automatically thought back to the gentle headslap he'd delivered earlier. That Abby sure was a smart one. "Tomorrow?"

"Sure, Gibbs."

* * *

Gibbs sat in a hotel room later that night, watching Tony sleep. He realized that he had seen more of DiNozzo's closed eyelids in the past week than in all the years they had worked together. That even included Tony's bout with the plague.

Gibbs smiled in spite of himself, remembering how Abby had taken the reins during his recovery, practically moving in with Tony. Gibbs' few visits had found Tony always awake, always trying to pretend he was fine. The smile faded as he remembered the night Abby had called, freaking out and needing reassurance because Tony had awoken in a full-on panic, his lungs having forgotten how to simply breathe.

The memories made Gibbs realize something important. DiNozzo had made it through that horrifying, nearly fatal experience—and Kate's subsequent death. He would make it through this.

Tony was one of the strongest people he knew, really. Gibbs knew the agent's childhood had been bad, even if he didn't know the full extent. But no one was that guarded who didn't have a lot of scars to hide. Hell, he could practically see Tony's casual handwritten admission in his letter to Abby that his father beat him. The thought of raising a hand to Kelly made Gibbs feel physically ill. He had always found it hard to even raise his voice to the girl; it would have been impossible to intentionally cause her physical pain.

Gibbs was struck suddenly by a memory of Kelly falling off her bike shortly after she had learned to ride. He had been standing not ten feet away when she went down, scraping her knee badly enough to draw blood. He had raced to her side, shoving away the guilt he felt at not being able to catch her. He remembered the softness of her skin as he put his hands beside the wound to examine the damage. He remembered her distinct little-girl smell, could practically see the fat tears on her cheeks. He remembered wishing there was a way to make her pain magically disappear.

He tried to imagine Tony's father hitting him, hurting him, and just walking away.

Tony stirred slightly and made a soft sound low in his throat, drawing Gibbs' attention back to the moment. _I don't care how bad the nightmares were, how little he was sleeping or eating out there, how many miles he ran to escape the demons. He did NOT do this to himself. And I won't stop until I find the bastards who did this to him. There's proof somewhere, someone will talk, and I will find out how they knew about his mother. I won't rest until they're punished… until he's safe. _

Tony twitched again in his sleep, and Gibbs found himself watching him, wondering what he was dreaming.


	37. Chapter 37

_He made his way slowly through the cemetery, looking down at each of the headstones, each bearing a familiar name. _

_Each with a familiar corpse resting lightly on the freshly turned soil. _

_He could smell the dirt. Its earthy scent invaded his nostrils, overriding everything else—even the sickly sweet smell of death. The dirt's odor was so overwhelming that he couldn't even smell the faint tang of the blood that poured from his wounded wrists, but he didn't need the smell to know it was there. He could feel it pulsing from the deep cuts, could feel it sliding slickly, thickly down his hands, could feel it dripping from his pale fingertips. _

_He passed Kate's grave and saw her lifeless body lying atop the reeking dirt, her Presidential Medal of Freedom resting on a chest unstirred by breath. Apparently, that didn't matter, though. Her eyes opened and her voice spoke to him: "It should have been you, you know," she said sweetly, in that matter-of-fact tone that he was ashamed to realize had so infuriated him at times. _

_He passed John, the DC detective, the hole in his chest still gushing blood as if he were lying on a hose with a hookup straight into hell's vast stores. He gasped his last breaths again and again, his lips endlessly forming the word "Liar"—but all Tony heard was: "It should have been you."_

_He passed Jenny, who was curled on her side on damp dirt blackened by blood, her body shredded by bullets. She did not move. Did not speak to him. But scrawled in blood on her headstone as if a child with a brand-new set of gory fingerpaints, her corpse had printed the dripping words: "It should have been you."_

_He passed Jeanne, lying perfectly still on her grassy green grave. She took a sudden breath, as if remembering how to live, and got up and walked away. He followed her movements and watched her join a green-eyed man in the distance. She linked arms with the stranger, turned back, and called to him: "It should have been you."_

_He passed a stranger in a familiar car: his beloved, burned-out Mustang. His team moved around the ruined car, processing the devastating scene with little show of devastation. As he passed, the corpse uncurled its charred body, turning its grisly head and whispering, "It should have been you." _

_He passed the pieces of Paula littering her gravesite. The only parts among the carnage recognizable as her were her pretty eyes—and they were full of recrimination. He didn't need her to gather up her ruined throat to speak to know what she would have said: "It should have been you."_

_He finally reached his destination, standing shaking beside the familiar headstone bearing his own last name. The grave was open and he stared down at the shiny top of the coffin that held the only person who had ever loved him. The only person who had never hurt him. Except that wasn't true. She had hurt him—broken him, irreparably—the day she had decided to open her veins and leave him._

_He watched as the lid opened, watched tiny flecks of dirt sliding down off the shiny surface and disappearing into the soil below. He felt his heart surge at the thought of seeing her again, of hearing her voice, musical as the piano she had so loved in life. He longed for the chance to sit on that bench with her one last time, his small body perched beside hers as her long, slim fingers wrung beauty from the fine instrument. The sickening smell of the dirt was replaced by the soft scent of roses, and he felt the first tears slip down his cheeks. _

_He did not smell roses once she rose from her silk-lined coffin. Her flesh was mottled green and yellowish where it wasn't dripping thickly from her bones. Her face was half-obliterated, one side glowing with the ethereal loveliness he remembered, one side a mangled mess of decay. He cried out in shock and terror as she reached forward and took his bloody hands in hers. On his left wrist he felt the softness of her smooth skin, this time unruptured by her blades. On his right, nothing but hard, cold bone as the skeletal fingers circled his warm, damaged flesh. _

_He forced himself to look away, his eyes coming up, up, away from her lovely destruction—and settling on the furious face of his father. His eyes burned with rage and hate and a suffering that he knew was mirrored in his own but that they would never share. _

_"It should have been you."_

Tony came awake with a shriek, tears streaming unchecked down his face as he struggled to remember where he was. The room was unfamiliar, but the face staring with shocked concern into his own was blissfully recognizable.

"Gibbs," he gasped, his throat raw and sore, and he realized he'd been screaming again.

He wasn't surprised, considering the nightmare's lingering grip of terror.

He was surprised that the shame didn't burn the leftover tears from his very face.

"It's all right, Tony," Gibbs whispered, his voice as shaky as Tony's hands. He stood beside the bed, unsure if he should touch his trembling friend. Tony was sitting up, looking around wildly, panic and pain and shame waging war across his damp face. Gibbs took a step back and watched him flinch as he hurt himself swiping at the tears on his cheeks.

Tony's eyes finally settled on Gibbs' face and he blinked several times before closing his wide eyes and whispering, "Well, shit."

Gibbs would have smiled if he hadn't been still hearing Tony's terrified screams echoing in his head. "You okay?" he asked, feeling like an idiot even before Tony answered.

"Just woke up screaming in a hotel room with my boss," he said shakily, his eyes on his bandaged left wrist. "Not so much."

Gibbs followed his gaze and said, "And you're bleeding."

Tony didn't speak. He didn't move, either, and Gibbs just stood there awkwardly, having no idea what to do or say. He somehow knew platitudes and trite, meaningless phrases would do no good so he simply said, "I saw you clawing at it in your sleep. But I didn't want to grab you. Maybe I should have," he finished, sounding more uncertain than Tony had ever heard him.

Tony shook his head. "Nah, I might have punched you. Then this would be even more awkward than it already is."

"It's not that bad," Gibbs argued, but it sounded weak even to his own ears.

Tony just raised an eyebrow at him from where he sat, still shaking slightly.

They were silent for a moment long enough to make Gibbs shift his weight uncomfortably.

"At least we still have our clothes on," Tony finally said, the corner of his mouth turning up slightly.

Gibbs laughed out loud. "I should headslap you for even thinking that."

"Nah," Tony said again. "It's no fun when you warn me."

They stared at each other again, the awkwardness blooming like a time-lapsed rose. Gibbs finally shook his head. "Let me take a look at your wrist. Need to make sure we don't need to find a hospital."

Tony looked uncomfortable for a moment, but then gave in with a nod—because he was more tired than self-conscious at the moment. Gibbs went and washed his hands, returning with the first-aid kit containing antibiotic salves and bandages that Ducky had sent with them. He sat on the edge of the bed, his cheeks flaming bright red when his hip bumped Tony's bent knee through the blanket.

"Chill, Boss," Tony said as Gibbs took his hand in his own. "We both know I'm not your type. Not a redhead."

Gibbs laughed again, the volume making Tony realize just how thoroughly unsettled his boss was—and how hard he was trying to hide it. _Just what the hell was I screaming? And for how long?_

Gibbs slowly unwound the thick gauze from his agent's wounded wrist, his concern at the crimson deepening with each layer overriding the similar hue burning his cheeks from Tony's joke. He schooled his features as he removed the last of the dressing, knowing Tony was intently watching his face for his reaction to the gruesome injury. Gibbs didn't flinch as he lifted Tony's hand closer to his face and inspected the damage.

He expected a joke about his worsening eyesight so he was shocked when Tony said, "We wouldn't need to find a hospital. I know where the closest one is. I'll never forget that one. It's the one she died in."

Gibbs listened to the choppy sentences and was struck with shock when he realized who Tony was talking about—and what he was doing. _You're so unsettled by my gentle ministrations that you're pulling _that _memory out? And sharing it with me? Does my kindness scare you that much more than the memories?_

Gibbs looked up at him in surprise. "She wasn't dead when you found her," he said before he could stop himself. _Once an investigator…_

Tony shook his head slowly, and Gibbs blinked at the gratitude in his green eyes. "I'm glad it's you here with me, Boss," he blurted. He flushed and looked down at his bleeding wrist. A rivulet of red had found its way from the popped stitches into Gibbs' cupped palm, and Tony winced. He continued anyway. "Anyone else would be falling all over themselves trying to make me feel better."

"Tony, I—" Gibbs began, feeling guilty that he hadn't even tried to console him, to comfort him when he was obviously hurting.

"No, Gibbs," Tony said softly. "Thank you. For letting me just _be_."

Gibbs stayed quiet, his eyes on Tony's bleeding wound as he tried to figure if it would stop on its own. He pressed a gauze pad to the broken stitches, hoping the pressure wasn't too painful, and gently forced Tony's arm up against the agent's chest. He held the pressure and returned his eyes to Tony's.

"She might as well have been," Tony said once Gibbs was looking at him again. He gave the man credit for not looking away when he felt his eyes well up again. "Dead, that is. She couldn't move, couldn't talk. But she was still there. I saw it when I looked into her eyes. Hers stayed open until the end, and I couldn't even force mine open when I … Whatever. But that's what I remember most about all of it. Not the blood, the wounds, the way her bright red fingernails perfectly matched the pools beside her. I remember wondering what she would say to me if she had been able to speak."

It took everything in Gibbs' formidable power not to flinch, to keep his eyes on Tony's as he spoke with such raw anguish. He was pretty sure his heart was ripped from his chest as Tony calmly compared his experience with his mother's, and Gibbs fought not to remind him that he had lived.

"It wasn't just a hotel in Maui that he left me in," Tony said, trying to replace Gibbs' hand with his over the wound. But Gibbs held firm, and so he just continued. "It was that damned hospital, too. As soon as the doctor came back and said she was gone, he bolted. So did I, though, when I realized he wasn't coming back. I hid for hours. The doctor must have forgotten about me, too, because when I came out, they all just kept asking me what my name was, who I was there with. I wanted to tell them I wasn't there with anyone. Not anyone living, anyway. But I didn't say a word."

Tony's lips curved in a heartbreaking parody of a smile. "I didn't speak for a month after. He sent someone to pick me up the next morning, and the guy asked me if I was okay, but I just couldn't talk. Not to anyone. Hard to believe, I know. Me, silent for that long."

Gibbs was stunned speechless, but not by Tony's lengthy silence. He was horrified that a man could be so selfish as to abandon a child who had just lost his mother—and in such a brutal way. He found that he, himself, could not put that rage into words so he just waited, his eyes still locked on Tony's glittering green ones. He willed his friend to give in and release the agony he had to be feeling, but he knew Tony wouldn't cry in front of him, not consciously anyway. That realization made him ache for reasons he didn't fully understand.

"But I just couldn't speak. It didn't seem fair to talk when I knew she never would again."

Gibbs listened with matching anguish to the soft words, wanting to hug him, to pull him into his arms and apologize for mistakes that were not his but he would do anything to fix. But he knew it would only frighten and embarrass him. He couldn't find words so he just reached out and laid a shaky hand on Tony's shoulder, hoping the gentle touch wouldn't send him fleeing.

He finally let his hand drop, noting that Tony finally looked away as Gibbs examined his wrist again. He saw that the bleeding had stopped and it appeared only two of the stitches had come apart during Tony's fierce struggling. Gibbs applied the salve wordlessly and rewrapped the wrist, giving it a soft pat before he got up and went silently back to bed.

He lay in the darkness for a long while before whispering, "Tony?"

He wasn't surprised in the least when Tony answered back immediately and with not even a hint of a tremor in his tone. "Yeah?"

Gibbs gulped and prayed he was saying the right thing.

"I'm glad you found your voice. I'd have had a hell of a lot less laughter in my life if you hadn't."

* * *

Gibbs awoke the following morning with a start of his own as sunlight began streaming through the window. He turned and found Tony watching him.

Gibbs smiled. "I know how they knew about your mother."


	38. Chapter 38

Tony blinked slowly, cursing the drugs flooding his system. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever have another clear thought. "What?"

Gibbs sat up, positioning himself on the edge of the bed and wiping the sleep from his face. He watched Tony as he sat in one of the chairs across the room and struggled to make the connection that Gibbs had. "I know how they knew about your mother," Gibbs repeated, and when that didn't even cause a spark in the tired green eyes watching him, he bit back a sigh. He really wanted his DiNozzo back. "Vance was arguing with me, telling me that you did this to yourself. He tried to prove it by bringing up the fact that your attackers wouldn't know how your mother died."

"Report says accidental," Tony said slowly. "My father, he…"

"Tony," Gibbs said sharply, but his eyes were soft. "That's not the point. I know that. Vance knew that, and he was trying to use it against you. But I know how they knew."

DiNozzo just stared.

"Your nightmares, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, letting the agent figure out the rest. Admittedly, it took a bit longer than Gibbs liked, but he also knew he'd dosed Tony pretty good after tending his wound to make sure he got some sort of sleep.

"They heard me," Tony said, sounding pissed off. Gibbs grinned at that emotion, and the smile only got wider when Tony frowned, looked at his hands, and looked back up at Gibbs' face. "They were stalking me. To get to know my patterns so Willis would know when and where to provoke Stowell. And then later to find an opportunity to attack me."

Gibbs was nodding, confirming Tony's words. _That close enough to the old DiNozzo?_

But Tony wasn't done yet. "It was a Thursday night. Benny always cleaned the kitchen on Thursday nights, and we rarely hung out then. They knew that." Tony blushed slightly, the memory of puking his guts out after the dream in which Gibbs stabbed him rushing back at him. "The only reason he came back was because he was worried about me."

Their eyes met and Tony knew he didn't have to say any more. He knew Gibbs knew about his embarrassing incident, if not its actual cause. Gibbs just smiled, though. _That's my DiNozzo. _He said, "Who would know about Benny's schedule? Would Lowe or Willis know? Maybe Squire?"

Tony frowned. "I … I don't know."

Gibbs heard the defeat creeping back into his tone and said, "Hey, DiNozzo. Don't worry about it." He paused. "You did good."

Tony smiled a half-smile and turned his eyes to the sunlight streaming through the window. "Can we go soon? I'm not going to be able to sleep now."

Gibbs nodded as he stood. "Sure, Tony." _Anything you want. _

* * *

They sat in the car amid the platoon of headstones arranged in their neat little rows, all standing at full attention, patiently awaiting the end of time. Gibbs tried desperately not to think about his lost family, lying in a cemetery hundreds of miles away. He opened eyes he hadn't realized were closed and found DiNozzo staring at him. The guilt in his eyes was almost palpable, and the lead agent realized Tony knew exactly what he was thinking about.

"I'm so sorry, Gibbs," he said softly, holding the older man's eyes. "And don't give me some crap line about weakness. I was so wrapped up in my own head that I didn't even think about how hard this would be for you."

Gibbs wasn't sure what to say to that—how to handle Tony's quiet openness. But he knew how rarely Tony let his guard down like this so he wasn't going to cheapen the moment with a lecture about rules. "I'd have called you a cab if I couldn't handle it," he said simply, and they both knew it was a lie woven from the fabric of kindness. "Whenever you're ready. And take your time. I'll be here when you get back."

Tony frowned hard, turning and staring out the window. Gibbs saw the unsettled look in his eyes but couldn't quite guess at its origin. "What?"

Tony looked back at him, then down at his hands. "It's kind of far," he said quietly. "I mean, not far, far. But far enough. For me anyway. Not for me normally, but for me right now."

Gibbs listened to him ramble and couldn't help thinking of Abby. _Why the hell didn't I bring her? She would be so much better at this than me. _

He shrugged off the thoughts and got out of the car. _You're here now. Deal with it, _he thought as he fell into step beside a furiously blushing DiNozzo. Gibbs snuck glances at his friend, noting his long-sleeved shirt was too warm for the humid weather but also knowing why he had chosen it—and why it was pulled down to the knuckles on his left hand even though he'd rolled the sleeve on his right to allow for the bulky cast. Gibbs knew the thought process behind that, too.

Looking at the cast that covered Tony's forearm down to his fingertips, leaving only his thumb and forefinger exposed, a thought that nearly knocked him off his feet struck Gibbs hard. _Ducky _told_ us he couldn't have cut his left wrist with his right hand that badly broken. How the hell did I forget that? … How the hell did I ever doubt him in the first place? _

As Gibbs struggled with his guilty thoughts, he should have realized they only validated his insistence on detachment during investigations. For all of his anguished sifting through his many uncertainties, he had forgotten the single _fact_ that mattered most. His emotional separation during cases might sometimes make him a grade-A bastard, but it also made him one of the best investigators ever to wear a badge.

Both men were lost in their own thoughts, and they didn't speak as they walked—slowly. Their pace made Gibbs realize just how weak Tony still was, and he cursed himself for caving so soon. He was surprised Ducky hadn't commandeered his gun and shot him.

Gibbs glanced to his right again, noting that Tony was looking around nervously every time he saw another figure among the graves. "You know the chances of him being here now are pretty slim."

Tony turned and looked at him oddly, making Gibbs wish he'd kept his mouth shut. But he was finding lately that he was speaking just to speak, just to get Tony to talk to him. A quiet DiNozzo was just that unsettling, and he tried to imagine a young Tony not speaking for a solid month. It made him shiver in the warm late-summer sun.

"I could say something about irrational fears being, well, irrational," Tony said with a half-smile that faded quickly. "But he won't be here. Not because of odds or coincidences or anything else. He doesn't come here. Hasn't been here since the funeral."

Gibbs considered that for a moment before asking, "How do you know that?"

Tony looked almost guilty for a moment, like he'd opened a door that should have remained forever shut, like he'd set a ball in motion that should have remained at rest. He sighed, sounding tired again and making Gibbs wonder if he had gotten any sleep the night before. "Because he told me he was never coming here again. And while he was never in the habit of keeping his word to me, I believed him on that."

Gibbs just walked, not speaking, silently telling the agent to continue. He was mostly confused.

Tony glanced at Gibbs' perplexed face and huffed out another breath. _You started this… _"After she died, after I started speaking again, the first words I said to him were to ask him to bring me here. I had things I wanted to tell her, things I hadn't been able to at the funeral."

Gibbs suddenly knew where this was going and he felt cold hard rage sweep over him like a cloud blocking the sun. He stayed silent because he knew he couldn't speak without yelling and Tony didn't need his anger right now.

"He said he wouldn't, that he wasn't ever coming back to this place because she wasn't here," Tony said flatly, his lack of inflection scaring Gibbs again. "She was dead, and he didn't need any reminders of that."

Tony laughed bitterly. "He actually told me I was enough of a reminder," he said, his lips twisted into a grimace. "Her eyes… He said every time he looked at me, all he saw was her. I guess that was his justification for beating the crap out of me so often. But even as an 8-year-old kid, I knew that was messed up. If I reminded him so much of her, why hit me? He had never hurt her. I guess he was angry at her for leaving. At least we shared that. Not that we could talk about it, though. Of all the things he did to me, I really think that was the worst. He could have knocked me around daily if he had just once told me he knew how much I missed her and that he missed her, too."

_Now I really want my old DiNozzo back_, Gibbs thought as he flinched at the pain-filled words—but he knew he was being selfish. If Tony was going to drop his guard like this and talk, then Gibbs was damned sure going to listen. Even if he had no idea what to say back. The thought suddenly occurred to him that Tony didn't expect him to say anything, that his just being there, listening, was better than any treatment he had ever received. It made Gibbs feel sick.

"Uh, sorry, Boss," Tony said after a long moment of slow shuffling, wincing as he glanced at Gibbs' slightly pale face. "It should have been enough for you to make yourself my self-appointed long-range taxi driver. I shouldn't be forcing you to be my shrink, too."

Gibbs thought furiously about how to respond. He finally just said simply, "Not your shrink, Tony. Just trying to be a friend."

"Not trying," Tony said softly. "You're doing it."

Gibbs was saved a response by Tony's sudden stop beside a grave. Gibbs read his agent's last name on the stone and blinked in surprise. He had been expecting something … larger, more ornate. He knew the family had serious money.

Tony shocked him by reading his thoughts and saying, "Coffin wasn't top-of-the-line either. Caused a huge rift between the families, but my father held firm. Said the quality didn't matter because it was just going in the ground anyway. I agreed with him—didn't say anything, of course. I was too scared. And still not speaking. But I agreed." He paused for a moment, then said softly, cryptically, "Still do."

Before Gibbs could even process that, Tony continued, his voice faraway as he read his mother's name from the stone. "Gabriella," he said, a smile touching his lips. "Gabby to her friends. You know when I started working with you, I flinched for a month every time you said 'Abby'? I just couldn't help it."

Gibbs cocked his head to the side slightly. He _had _noticed, but he had never made the connection. He shook off the thoughts, his eyes straying to the inscription in Italian below the dead woman's name.

_Sposa, Madre, Melodia Artefice_

Gibbs frowned, saying thoughtfully, "Wife, mother…?"

Tony smiled again, and Gibbs finally stopped berating himself for bringing him here so soon. "Music-maker."

"Piano," Gibbs said, and Tony realized it wasn't a question.

"Uh, how'd you…?" he asked uncertainly, feeling fear twist his insides because he knew the answer.

Gibbs just gave him a look. "Think I wouldn't notice that someone had played Kelly's piano?"

Tony's face went bone-white and he started to shake, thinking about all those nights he had spent alone in Gibbs' house while his boss was off in Mexico. He had really only stopped by to check on the place, but he had found himself wandering the dark, quiet rooms, feeling their emptiness echoing the hole in his chest. And when he'd come across the piano in the back room, kept in perfect tune, he'd sat down on that bench and cried. Arms wrapped around his body as if trying to keep from coming apart, he'd wept—for everything he had lost, for everything Gibbs had lost, for so many things that he hadn't been thinking straight afterward and had felt the need to play the instrument as strongly as he felt the urge to breathe.

But that didn't make it right.

"Gibbs, shit, I am so—"

But Gibbs just shook his head with a smile. "I wasn't using it," he said, once again saying so much more than the actual words. _Had anyone touched it other than you, though, and I would have ripped their fingers off—slowly, one by painful bloody one. _

Tony gulped, wanting to apologize again, but the … _peaceful?_ … look on Gibbs' face stopped him cold. He considered that for a moment before turning his attention back to his mother's grave. A flash of his dream made him shudder, but his eyes didn't leave her name.

_Oh, Mom. Why? I miss you so much. Every time I think of you, I smell your roses, I hear your music, your beautiful voice—but all I ever end up thinking is why? He never laid a hand on you. But I should know better than anyone that the physical abuse was often easier than the ignoring, the complete and utter lack of caring. He knew you were suffering. We all did. They saw the drinking, the pills—but I heard it in your music. None of them spent enough time with you in that big, empty, acoustically perfect room to notice it, but I did. I heard your undoing in the imperfect notes wrought from fingers that knew better. _

_And I should have done something about it. I should have told someone even though I knew they wouldn't do anything. DiNozzos aren't weak, and they don't suffer from mental illnesses. But I was your son and I never said a fucking thing even though I knew how much you were hurting. _

_And for that, Mom, I won't ever forgive myself. _

He was shaking again by the time his thoughts had exhausted themselves, and he felt Gibbs' nearness even if he hadn't noticed his moving closer.

The older man's soft question startled him—not because he wasn't expecting something, but because of its content.

"Tony, do you trust me?"

"With my life, Boss," came the immediate reply.

"Well, yeah, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, smiling slightly even though he was unnerved by Tony's silent trembling, by not having a clue what he had been thinking. "We do a dangerous job, and you know I'll always have your back out there."

The smile faded and he continued, "But trusting me to not let you get hurt in the field isn't the same as trusting me not to hurt you."

He watched DiNozzo wrap his drug-fogged brain around that. Tony nodded. "Yeah, Gibbs, I trust you."

Gibbs took a deep breath, not sure if either of them was ready for this—or if it was even the right thing to say. "Then believe me when I tell you—because I'm talking from experience—that if you don't let it out, just let it go, it's going to eat you alive."

Tony's eyes snapped up from the headstone at his oblique mention of his dead family—his _most recent_ one in a day filled with them. "Are you ordering me to cry, Boss?" He said it lightly, but there was real fear in his voice.

Gibbs smiled. "No, Tony. I'm telling you it's okay."


	39. Chapter 39

They were back in the car again, both feeling stuffed full from their stop for lunch at an amazing little pizzeria. Tony felt better, having kept his promise to Gibbs, but he was also glad to be headed back home.

_Home, _he thought, shifting so his arms were more comfortably settled across the pillow on his lap. _It's funny how this was always home in my head—even when I was in Ohio and knew I wouldn't be coming here on breaks. That I couldn't. I wasn't welcome here, but I still thought of it as home. _

He glanced at Gibbs beside him and turned back to the window with a smile. _Until Gibbs. Until Abby and Ducky and the team. I know where my home is now. Had known it since that time Gibbs, Kate and I were stuck in West Virginia on some awful case that finally broke after several long, exhausting days that almost broke _us_. I swear if I heard the term "y'all" one more time, I'd have shoved an ice pick through my eardrums. But Gibbs had turned to us, all dirty and tired and emotionally wrecked by the senseless violence, and he'd said, "Let's go home."_

_And from that moment on, I knew where my home was. _

Gibbs drove, glancing at his silent friend and wondering what the little smile was about. Having been deployed around the world, Gibbs knew what it was like to finally come home. That DiNozzo was smiling so easily while leaving New York, he figured Tony knew where he belonged.

Gibbs' cell rang then, and Tony plucked it from the console, flipped it open and hit the speakerphone.

"Yeah," Gibbs answered.

"Hi, Boss, how's New York?" McGee asked over the line.

"Wouldn't know," Gibbs said, glancing at the smile that brought to Tony's face.

"I thought—"

"Just left the state," Tony answered easily. "Tell me you have a signed confession? Multiple signed confessions?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Kidding, Probie," Tony cut in, masking his disappointment. He was determined not to let himself drown in his thoughts. He figured he owed it to Gibbs, who had so selflessly accompanied him on this sad, difficult, wholly necessary mission. Someday, he would find a way to thank him. "What did you find in Lowe's financials?"

"Lots," McGee said, slipping back into investigator mode at Tony's familiar, businesslike tone. "He has a ton of accounts and complicated trusts, but I finally found that almost all of them are nearly empty. Except one."

Tony felt his heart skip a beat. Did he even dare start to hope?

McGee continued. "He received a $5000 wire transfer routed through a dozen different countries. And get this, the deposit was made just a few days before you were attacked."

"Not enough to be a hit, but it is close," Ziva commented, sounding decidedly more rested than the previous day.

"Hey!" Tony said, feigning outrage.

"Sorry, Tony," Ziva said, "but I would know."

"Gibbs?" Tony said, casting him a sidelong glance.

The lead agent paused a moment. "Ah, you know you're priceless, DiNozzo."

"Irreplaceable and priceless?" Tony mused.

"You don't sound happy," McGee commented.

"I sound like a freakin' vase," Tony grumbled.

"Knock it off," Gibbs reprimanded his unruly team, but it was spoken without his usual ferocity.

"And she's right," Tony said. "Not enough to be a hit."

"I finally found that it came from Stowell," McGee said. "It has to be a payment for Lowe and Willis wiping his drug test."

"Willis must trust Lowe an awful lot to let him take the full payment," Tony said.

"He has to," McGee said.

"Because they're stuck on the ship and can't exactly walk into a bank and withdraw the money for a cash payment," Tony finished.

"And Lowe has all those accounts," McGee picked up again. "They knew it would be harder to trace that way."

"They didn't know you'd be on it, McGee," Tony said simply.

"And," McGee said, his grin in his voice, "there's our third guy again. Someone had to have a lot of computer knowledge to mask the deposit that thoroughly."

Gibbs quickly filled them in on their realization about Tony's dreams, noting that DiNozzo blushed ten shades of red when Gibbs said the word "nightmare" to the team. Being vulnerable and completely unguarded in front of Gibbs was one thing; he knew Tony would never be comfortable being that way with the team.

"I spoke with Stick while McGee was wading through the financials," Ziva said. "I asked if he knew who Squire's mystery boyfriend was and he did not. He did some checking around and called me back. He said a lot of people knew about the boyfriend—apparently Palamar was not lying when he said she spoke of the man often—but no one knows his name. Even Palamar did not know when I checked with him."

"Hey, and Boss?" McGee said, a bit cautiously. "That other thing you asked me about? That's a definite no."

"Good, McGee." Gibbs nodded, watching Tony regard him curiously, obviously battling his drugged haze. Gibbs hoped his fogginess would obscure the exchange from his memory. Gibbs really didn't want to plant the seeds in Tony's head that Benny could have had anything to do with his attack—especially now knowing it wasn't possible. But considering Tony looked more sleepy and confused than suspicious, Gibbs figured he would probably forget about it—or simply let it go.

"Ziva also made a call to Daly," McGee said quickly, knowing Gibbs would want the conversation steered away from his checking into Benny's whereabouts that night.

"Yes, I did," Ziva said. "I asked him how Squire acted that night, who was the aggressor, and he said it was definitely her. Of course, he could be lying, but I did not get that feeling. He said she came on very strong."

"He really doesn't have any reason to lie anyway," Gibbs said, watching Tony blink sleepily. _Guess I don't have to worry about him questioning me._ "He's done for good."

"Should we bring Stowell in?" McGee asked, switching gears after a short silence.

"I doubt it will do any good," Ziva answered. "He can only speculate on Willis' motives for starting the fight, and he was off the ship by the time of the attack."

Tony gave a little shudder at the word, and Gibbs saw his face go stony again. He almost sighed. Tony said, "So we have more proof of the scam, but still nothing linking it to me. Fantastic."

"Do not give up," Ziva said forcefully, taking them all by surprise. "Do not give up on _us_, Tony. We will find a connection."

Gibbs watched Tony consider her words—and the conviction in them. "Thanks, Ziva," he said quietly.

Gibbs hung up the phone without another word. He divided his attention between the road and his brooding passenger for several long miles. He hoped Tony would go to sleep, not because he minded talking—hell, he was actually starting to get used to this more-open Tony—but because DiNozzo looked exhausted. Gibbs was determined to make sure he got some sleep once they returned.

Gibbs drove, turning the facts of the case over and over in his head, rearranging them, stirring them, flipping them like an omelet while Tony napped fitfully beside him. Gibbs was hoping that Tony wouldn't wake up screaming again—experiencing that once was enough for one lifetime. It made him realize that while he knew DiNozzo had been in a bad place while aboard the Seahawk, reading about his nightmares in his letters was quite different from actually witnessing their terrifying intensity. He could still practically see the tears glistening on Tony's pale cheeks.

Tony woke up for good about an hour from the District, but he didn't speak. He simply gazed through the window at the scenery rushing past in the light summer rain outside.

Gibbs noticed his passenger was awake and watched Tony gently rubbing the undersides of his wrists. He did it slowly, carefully, alternating left, right, left, right, and he did not look down as he did it. Gibbs wondered if he even knew he was doing it—especially since he wouldn't be able to feel the touch through the plaster on his right wrist.

"You hurting?" Gibbs finally asked, still staring straight ahead at the wet road.

He saw Tony shake his head slowly, winced at the reemergence of the haunted sadness in his eyes. "They're starting to itch."

Gibbs glanced over at him. "Ah," he said, his eyes moving back to the road. "Means they're healing."

Tony was quiet a moment before softly saying, "Yeah."

Gibbs glanced at him again, concerned. "That's a good thing."

He heard Tony's deep breath. "Yeah," he said again, still staring out the window.

They rode in silence for several miles. Gibbs knew Tony saw the worried looks he kept throwing at his mute passenger, but the injured agent did not speak. Finally, Gibbs asked softly, "What's on your mind, DiNozzo?"

"What isn't?" Tony asked, not expecting that to fly with Gibbs.

It didn't.

Gibbs just drove, silently waiting him out, telling him without a word that he would listen whenever Tony decided to start talking. It took a lot more miles than Gibbs had thought it would, and that in itself had the older man seriously unsettled—as if this quiet, damaged version of Tony wasn't unnerving enough. But the alternative was nearly as disturbing. Gibbs was glad Tony had opened up to him at his mother's grave, but he had also noticed Tony watching him with an almost frightened look on his face during their quick stop for lunch. Gibbs knew Tony didn't like lowering his defenses for anyone—even him.

"What happens when my case ends up in the cold case files? As if I even have one, according to Vance. I mean, I shouldn't complain because catching two outta three scammers ain't bad, but we still can't prove anything is related to me," Tony said, taking Gibbs completely by surprise when he finally spoke. His voice was soft and strained as he continued, "But what if we can't ever prove it? What do I do then? What happens to me then?"

Gibbs felt sick. "Tony," he said, wishing there was someplace to pull off the road, but then thinking maybe it would be easier on Tony that there wasn't. "I won't let that happen. You have to know that."

Silence.

"I don't give up on strangers' cases," Gibbs said, trying again. He may have been a man of few words, but he also knew when they were absolutely necessary. "There's nothing that will make me give up on yours. Not even a director who seems to have forgotten himself, his position."

Silence.

"It's his job to protect his agents—to protect _you_, DiNozzo, and he's failing miserably, for whatever reason. I'm not going to fail you, I promise you that."

Silence.

"I'm going to find the people who did this to you and make them pay—all of them."

Tony was silent for several miles. "I'm sorry, Gibbs."

Gibbs fought a sigh. "I don't want to hear that," he said, but his tone carried none of its usual bite. "You've been doing a lot of apologizing lately for someone who has nothing to be sorry for."

"Do you really believe that?"

It took Gibbs a moment to realize the question wasn't rhetorical. And another couple of moments to realize where the conversation had suddenly crash-landed.

_Shit._

"Yes, Tony, I do," Gibbs said, meaning it and wondering how best to make DiNozzo believe it, too.

"I don't," he said, his soft words slamming a sledgehammer onto Gibbs' heart.

Gibbs took a steadying breath, forcing images of a dusty diner out of his head. "It wasn't your fault, Tony," he said softly, wishing he could look into Tony's eyes and make him believe it through sheer force of will. "There was nothing you could have done to stop it, to stop _her._"

"I could have done my damned job, Gibbs," Tony spat, surprising Gibbs with the force of his anger. "I was out there on protection detail. _For the fucking director. _And I failed. I failed her, I failed Ziva, and goddammit, I failed you."

Gibbs drew a breath, suddenly realizing just how much his mistake of not telling Tony first thing in the desert that day that it wasn't his fault had cost his agent. Gibbs felt his hands go shaky as he realized how much DiNozzo had been torturing himself over this.

Gibbs had loved Jenny once, but he meant his words when he said, "_She _failed, DiNozzo. No one else. Certainly not you. She knew she was in danger. You didn't—because she never bothered to tell you what was going on. She knew exactly what she was doing out there, Tony. She sent her protection detail away for a reason."

"No one likes protection details," Tony said, and if he was surprised—or even affected by Gibbs' words—he didn't show it. "_I _haven't liked it since you ordered mine that day in the hospital, but you've been stuck to my side this whole time. You haven't let me out of your sight once, even though I've been a total pain in the ass. I screwed up, and she died because of me. You know it, I know it, and hell, even Vance knows it. Let's not pretend we both don't know that's why he sent me on that hellish trip out to sea."

"I would have let you go to her grave alone," Gibbs said simply, quietly. "I knew they'd heard your nightmares, I knew they knew about her, and I know a cemetery's a good, quiet place to ambush someone. And I didn't even think twice about letting you go alone—even though I knew you'd be upset and not paying one bit of attention to your surroundings."

Tony turned and faced his boss, who never admitted weaknesses, who never made mistakes. He didn't speak—didn't think he could have if he had tried.

"Everyone makes mistakes, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, his tone carrying that rare gentleness that so thoroughly unsettled Tony. Gibbs' voice hardened a bit when he said, "And you know I've had no problem setting you straight when you've made them."

He softened again, glancing to his right. "But listen to me, Tony, really _listen _to me. You didn't make a mistake out there with Jenny. She did."

Tony let out a slow breath, his eyes glittering, and said, "I'm sorry, Gibbs."

"Hey—"

"No, you listen to me," he said softly, but with force. "Maybe it wasn't my fault and maybe I couldn't have done anything about it. But you… she was Jenny, and she died, and I never told you how sorry I was for that. I mean that, Boss."

"Thank you," Gibbs said stiffly. He saw Tony wince at the formality of the sentiment. "You didn't have to say it, DiNozzo. I knew," Gibbs said, reaching over and tapping him gently on the back of the head. "We're pretty good at nonverbal communication."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Maybe not so much. What was that for?"

Gibbs smiled. "Thinking I'd let your case go cold. Not gonna happen, DiNozzo. No way in hell."


	40. Chapter 40

"I said leave, goddammit," Tony roared four days later. He was standing in the middle of his living room, his eyes blazing like portals into hell. "How hard is that? Get. Out. I asked nicely about ten times. I'm done asking nicely. Leave. You went to MI-fucking-T, for god's sake. I would think you would be able to understand a one-word order. Leave."

McGee flinched at his friend's angry words. He tried to keep his eyes on Tony's livid face, but they kept disobeying his brain and straying to his partner's wrists. The bared wounds had shocked the young agent the second he had laid eyes on their raw brutality just minutes ago. He hadn't been able to stop his quiet, choked gasp of horror at seeing their black-stitched lengths for the first time as he arrived for his turn on protection detail.

He knew Tony had thrown a fit with Ducky the day before, when the doctor had determined those stitches weren't ready to come out. He'd stormed out of autopsy cast-less, and only Gibbs' threats had forced him to allow Ducky to splint his broken hand.

"Protection detail," McGee said, wanting to bolt but more afraid of Gibbs than Tony at the moment. It was a close call, though. "Remember?"

"Bullshit," Tony spat. "We both know you're here on your own time. Just like everyone else has been here on their own time because Vance still has a bug up his ass about me. Gibbs is taking goddamn _vacation _time to spend the days with me. I know I'm generally buckets of fun, but we both know you don't like me that much. Not enough to be wasting a fine Sunday afternoon watching me sleep. And pretending you don't hear me when I wake up freaking out and/or screaming, just like everyone else has. Now be a good little Probie, take orders from your senior field agent, and get the hell out."

McGee couldn't help himself. "So if I'm here on my own time," he said evenly, and he would have smiled if he weren't so unsettled by Tony's wounds—and his anger, "then I don't have to follow your orders."

Tony growled, low in his throat, and McGee forced his eyes to stay on the raging green ones narrowed at him. "Get. Out."

"Or what, Tony?" McGee asked, starting to lose his patience. "You gonna call the cops? I'll flash my badge and send them on their merry way."

The lamp that crashed into the wall didn't even come close to McGee, but he still flinched at its shattering. _Guess he's getting his strength back, _McGee thought, but he sobered immediately as he realized how his words must have sounded. _His badge. _Because Tony's was still in question, pending his medical and psychological clearances.

"Just chill out, okay?" McGee said, ignoring the broken lamp and trying to project a calm he didn't feel. "We'll watch a movie or something. I've got nowhere else to be. You know Gibbs won't give on this so why waste your energy fighting him?"

Tony was still beyond listening to reason, though. "My energy? I'm _fine_," he yelled, feeling blood dripping from his fingertips in traitorous contradiction.

"Really, Tony?" McGee asked, his voice going quiet as his eyes dropped pointedly to Tony's bleeding wrist. As his eyes slid down Tony's shaking body, he couldn't help noticing how much weight his partner had lost—and not just over the summer. He realized he'd spent long hours with Tony over the past few days but hadn't seen him eat once. He kicked himself for missing that.

Tony's mouth twisted into an ugly grin. "Still don't like blood, Probie?" he taunted, holding up his hand and giving it a hard shake, sending red droplets flying. "Good thing it wasn't you there that night then. There were fucking _puddles_ of it. I didn't have to see it to know how much there was, I _felt _it. You probably would have been more paralyzed than me, and then I wouldn't be standing here right now."

McGee felt the angry words like physical blows as his mind lit up with images from Benny's pained recollections. He took a shaky breath, ready to let Tony have it—it was obviously what he wanted. Tony didn't push like this unless he wanted to be shoved back. The night of Kate's death flashed through McGee's head, but he shoved the memories away—along with images of Tony flat on his back in that office, slowly bleeding to death.

But Tony's next words, so soft in comparison to his searing tirade that McGee wondered if he'd imagined them, stopped him cold. "Maybe it would have been better that way."

McGee's mouth dropped open in shock. "Tony, don't. Please don't say that," he said, all of his anger gone. "You have no idea how bad it was when we didn't know if you were going to make it. Please, don't. Don't say that. Don't ever say that."

He saw shame flick through green eyes before the fury roughly evicted it. Another lamp went sailing into the wall, and McGee turned to leave, but not before turning back to say, "I'll be right outside if you need me."

He saw Tony's face crumble for a half-second before his eyes went blank and he muttered, "Say hi to Gibbs for me."

* * *

McGee shut the door with a soft click and slid down the wall slowly. He stared at his outstretched legs and wondered just how they had gotten here. Looking back over the week, he realized he shouldn't be surprised. Gibbs and Tony had returned from New York, and they all had alternated being with him, falling into an easy rhythm because Tony was easy to be around. He either watched movies, read or slept. _I should have noticed how quiet he was. I thought he was just sleeping so much because he needed it to heal. We had been apart for a long summer, and he had almost died. Just being around him was comforting enough. So much so that I didn't even notice that he wasn't being Tony. _

He figured he should have noticed the not eating, though. A DiNozzo who wouldn't eat was a DiNozzo who was definitely not okay. But his relief had outweighed his perception. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised Tony had snapped. He really was a private person, despite all his antics, which Tim knew were just elaborate smokescreens to keep people at bay—to keep them from looking deeper to what Tony was hiding. Having people in his space 24 hours a day, in his _home_ constantly, had to have been seriously grating for a man that guarded. No wonder Tony looked exhausted: He had been putting on a one-man "I'm fine" show for days now. McGee tried not to feel too guilty for having been such a willing audience.

McGee sighed and pulled out his cell. He stared at the screen for a moment before dialing.

"Boss? We've got a problem."

* * *

Gibbs drove toward Tony's apartment building, not surprised in the least by McGee's call. Honestly, he had expected this sooner. He had expected Tony to explode as soon as the team had run dry on leads linking his case to the drug-testing scam. Looking back, Gibbs realized DiNozzo had taken the news _too_ well. He had just nodded, told them he was tired, and slept for the rest of the day. Gibbs had taken the day _and_ night shifts that day, and he had given Tony space because he knew he would be upset. But maybe he'd given him too much space in which to stew. And now McGee was the one who had to deal with the resultant explosion.

DiNozzo didn't get angry often, but Gibbs knew he was a force when he did. Gibbs just hoped he would be able to calm him down before he did any damage to himself. Gibbs parked and met McGee outside Tony's door. He noted the young agent was a little pale, but the determined glint in his eyes made Gibbs proud.

"Thanks for coming, Boss," McGee said. He looked at his shoes. "I just don't know how to deal with him like this."

Gibbs surprised McGee by shrugging and saying, "Not sure I do either, Tim."

McGee blinked, but then his gaze turned harder as he turned and knocked softly on the door. "Tony?"

The crash they got in response made them both sigh. Apparently the anger was back and Tony was feeling strong enough to vent it. It was probably good for him. Just not so much for his furnishings.

Gibbs nodded and McGee pushed open the door cautiously. "Tony? I'm pretty sure you're out of lamps, but can you just chill for a minute, please?"

He was greeted with silence and entered the living room to find Tony slumped on his couch, watching blood run from his damaged left wrist. Gibbs gave him a hard look and disappeared down the hall as McGee stood silently by the door, watching varying emotions flick across Tony's face. Gibbs returned and tended to Tony's wrist, noting his agent didn't look at him once and simply slid out of his grasp when Gibbs tried to bandage the wound.

Gibbs eyed the bared wounds, flicked a glance at McGee's paleness, and realized what the catalyst for the explosion had been.

Tony stood shakily by the window, putting a chair between himself and them, and said quietly, "I'm not going to bleed to death. Will you leave now?"

"You know we can't, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, standing but not approaching his agent.

"Says who?" Tony shot back, his volume rising along with his arms. Gibbs frowned, knowing it had to hurt having his arms crossed like that with the healing wounds stretched and the broken hand bent unnaturally in the crook of his elbow—but Tony's face gave away nothing.

"Me," Gibbs said, his tone and eyes equally hard. "Your boss? Remember that?"

Tony was silent, not bothering to debate that, mostly because it hurt too much to acknowledge that Gibbs wasn't actually his boss—and might never be again. He found his voice, and his anger too, because it was easier to be angry than heartbroken. "I don't want you here," he yelled. "There's no goddamn reason for either of you to be here. Why can't you just leave me the hell alone?"

Gibbs just gave him a look, knowing that bringing up the fact that they still didn't know who did this was not a good idea. Gibbs knew they needed to turn over the evidence they had found concerning the drug scam. As it was, they were seriously pushing it letting it go on while they searched desperately for a way to link it to Tony's attack. Two more deposits had been made to Lowe's nearly hidden account in the past four days, and Gibbs knew they had to bust those sailors eventually.

Tony read the silence, though; he knew Gibbs too well.

And he exploded.

"Fine. Don't answer me. Like I don't know why everyone has been falling all over themselves to make sure I don't sneeze without one of you close enough to wipe my nose. And don't you even dare insult my fucking intelligence by giving me some bullshit line about 'protection' detail." He paused fractionally, his eyes pure fire. "The only person you're here to protect me from is myself."

_So that's what this is about_, Gibbs thought, his eyes on Tony's wrists.

Tony didn't wait for him to respond. "You're not worried about some drug-crazed maniac coming here to off me, you're worried I'm going to start picking at the damned stitches."

Gibbs couldn't help wincing at that image, and he mentally kicked himself because Tony saw it and pounced on it. "Exactly. You all thought I'd gone off the deep end before, why not believe it now? What the hell changed?"

"Tony, you need to calm down," Gibbs said evenly, watching his agent's heaving chest and shaking hands, which were now balled into tight fists at his sides. There was a thin line of blood leaking from the left one again, right where he had broken the stitches that night in New York. Gibbs approached him slowly, his eyes on Tony's face. He saw the moment the anger abandoned him, leaving him with only shame and despair and exhaustion.

"Hey, it's okay," Gibbs said gently, surprising Tony by not going for his wrist but by wrapping an arm around his shoulders in a half-hug and steering him back to the couch. "I know you're hurting like hell right now. Just hang in there, okay?"

Tony nodded and sat heavily on the couch, brushing at the blood beaded on the black leather. Gibbs reached over him and wiped it up while McGee just tried to play invisible. He wasn't sure if Tony even remembered he was there.

He should have known better.

"I'm really sorry, Tim," Tony said dully, and McGee suddenly wanted the anger back. The defeat in his tone was almost too much. "You've been really good to me, and you didn't deserve this. I'm sorry. It's okay if you want to be mad at me. I hate myself right now."

McGee swallowed the lump in his throat at his partner's soft words. "I'm not mad. I can't imagine how hard this must be for you."

"Good." _I hope you never have to go through anything like this, Probie. _

McGee wasn't sure what to say to that so he just said, "Everything's going to be all right, Tony."

Tony's eyes came up and met McGee's at that. They were green lakes of sadness, and McGee desperately wanted to look away, or take back whatever he'd said that was wrong. Anything to make Tony stop looking at him like that—so brokenly.

"Nothing's right," he said quietly, not resisting in the least as Gibbs bandaged his wrists—both of them—and adjusted the splint on his right hand. "I accidentally insulted Ziva's cooking the other night, and she didn't even try to disembowel me with a salad fork. In what world is that right?"

McGee smiled. "Yeah, I saw the leftovers in the fridge. You ever figure out what it was?"

Tony tried to smile—and failed spectacularly if McGee's face was any indication. Tony turned to Gibbs and whispered soft words that stole the older man's breath.

"I can't do this anymore."

McGee blinked in shock while Gibbs struggled to find something to say to that. "You don't really have a choice, DiNozzo," Gibbs finally said, his hand finding Tony's knee. DiNozzo didn't seem to even register the contact. "We're not going to let you give up."

Tony's eyes hit the floor and he pulled in a long breath. He looked back up and while there was still pain and sadness in his eyes, there was also determination. "Gibbs," he said softly. "You know you can't keep doing this. You've done it too long as it is." He cocked his head to the side slightly, his eyes locked on Gibbs'. "Tomorrow, right?"

Gibbs didn't pretend to misunderstand him, and a glance at McGee told him they were all on the same sad page. Gibbs looked down at his hand still on Tony's knee and his eyes closed for a split-second before returning to Tony's anguished green gaze. "Yeah, tomorrow."

Tony swallowed hard even though he had known it was coming. He opened his mouth but found he didn't have any words.

"Doesn't mean it's over," Gibbs said firmly, but his voice was still quiet. "I may have to tell Vance what we found, but I can also tell him what Ducky said, too. It might be enough."

"You really think that?"

Gibbs frowned at the younger agent, but he didn't move his hand. "How often do I lie to you, DiNozzo?"

Tony sighed in response. "I'm kinda tired, Boss."

Gibbs interpreted the Tony-speak as _I want to be alone_ and was about to protest, thinking back to the day he had told Tony they were at a standstill on his case.

But McGee apparently had other plans.

"That's too bad, Tony," McGee said, moving back toward the door and picking up a laptop case Tony hadn't even noticed in his earlier rage.

All he had seen were McGee's wide eyes on his bared wounds. Tony realized with a rush of burning shame how startling it had to have been for the younger agent to walk in to that without any warning. He pulled his bandaged wrists to his chest and started to shake. He felt Gibbs' hand tighten on his knee.

"Tony?" he asked softly as McGee fiddled with the computer. "I know it hurts. Let me get you something for that. It's about time, anyway."

Gibbs heard Tony's breath hitch at his soft words and silently thanked McGee for pretending not to hear it either. He returned from the kitchen to find Tony white-faced and still trembling, and Gibbs hoped he hadn't reopened his wounds too severely during his tirade. He handed him the pills and a glass of water and watched him shake while he took them. Gibbs plucked the glass from Tony's hand before he dropped it and glanced at the bandages for signs of bleeding. Finding none, he followed Tony's eyes and finally realized he had misjudged the source of Tony's distress.

"There," McGee said, turning back from the laptop with a smile. "You've got company, Tony."

McGee's smile fled his face when he saw the tears brimming in Tony's tired eyes. _Damn, is no one ever kind to you, Tony? Has no one ever done a single nice thing for you? _He watched Tony blink away the tears and shove his face into feigned cheerfulness so quickly and so convincingly that McGee doubted the man on the other end of the video conference had even noticed his distress. _No one should be that good at faking happiness. _

Tony smiled at the screen and said softly, "Hey, Benny."


	41. Chapter 41

Benny beamed out from the computer screen, the familiarity of the man and the kitchen behind him hitting Tony like a kick in the gut. He kept his face calm, though, and said, "It's seriously no fair to talk to me from that kitchen when you know I can't partake of your talents."

Benny grinned. "Just be glad your buddy McGee hasn't worked out smell-o-vision. I've got the most delicious, juicy—"

"Seriously, Benny, please," Tony said, his smile turning genuine. "I can't take it."

Benny laughed. "All right, fine. Hey, McGee?" he asked, waiting for Tim to poke his head into the frame. "Thanks a ton for setting this up, man. Your partner was a jackass and left without saying goodbye, so thanks, really."

McGee slid a glance at Tony and saw him smiling, one of the rare real ones, and Tim grinned. "No problem. I'll let you guys catch up."

Tony's eyes met Benny's through the screen and he said, "Nah, stay, McGoo. You too, Gibbs. It'll be like a party."

"Yeah, but it's not a party without snacks," Benny said. "You get what I sent you, Tim?"

"Yep," McGee said, producing a box of chocolate chip cookies. If he hadn't been looking for it, he would have missed the quick flash of that awful look again on Tony's face, that odd combination of devastation, pain and gratitude that made McGee's throat tighten. _No wonder he's so damned good undercover. _"Got them this morning."

"They're your favorites," Benny said, still smiling. "I even risked my life putting walnuts in 'em because I know how much you like them. Tree-nut allergies be damned."

Tony was shocked speechless by his friends' planning, and he was afraid he might start sobbing and never stop because of their kindness. He covered his emotions by shoving a cookie in his mouth. He swallowed quickly and grinned. "Thanks, Benny. You're the best."

Benny just nodded. "So how's Abby?"

"Good," Tony said, even though he was thinking about her visit the day before. He felt another rush of shame that he had practically ignored her, not saying two words except to snap at her when her fussing over him got him annoyed. _You really don't deserve any of them. _"She said to say hi to you. I didn't really think I'd be able to relay the message so soon."

"Ah, Abby," Benny said, turning to go stir something on the stove. The thought of Benny's cooking made Tony realize how hungry he was, and he reached for another cookie. He thought about how little he had been eating and Ziva's gentle reproaches earlier in the week. He swallowed another morsel of shame along with the cookie. "That girl has a heart the size our great home state, she does. She sent me a postcard the other day, full of suggestions for naming my restaurant."

Tony finished his third cookie in record time and asked, "When are you done, again?"

"A month," Benny said, returning to the counter and settling in front of the webcam. He was grinning widely. "I can't wait to get back on dry land and get that restaurant going. Not that I don't like being in the Navy. But it's not every day that you get a chance to live your dreams."

"How's the planning going?" Tony asked, genuinely interested.

"Good," Benny said. He took a breath. "Lotta work to get done, though, once I get back. But I found a great location, got all the financing I need to get the place bought and ready to go. I've been working on my menu in my down time here, but it's going to need some tweaking."

"Don't forget the soup," Tony said, remembering the savory goodness of that particular recipe.

"And the 'Freakin' Cheatin' Agent Afloat' stew," Benny said, laughing deeply at the expression on McGee's face. "What, McGee? You don't like the name?"

"I told you it needed work," Tony said, feeling lighter than he had in weeks at the banter. "And it's not my fault I have a hell of a poker face."

Tony saw Gibbs' eyes come up from the book he'd found on the bookshelf, and he remembered the night he'd gotten out of the hospital. He blushed as he remembered beating Gibbs easily at all those hands. Gibbs just gave him a smile and went back to the book.

"Speaking of names," McGee said. "You pick one yet?"

Benny feigned outrage. "And just what the hell is wrong with 'Benny's'?"

Tony frowned. "Not classy enough for your fantastic cooking."

Benny beamed. "Aw, Tony, when did you get to be so nice? What happened to the big bad special agent I remember?"

Tony rolled his eyes, both at Benny's words and the slight concern on McGee's face at the teasing. "He's around here somewhere. But really, you need a name that matches your skill."

"Something classy?" Benny mused, a big hand stroking his chin. "But what's wrong with a down-home place? You know, chicken fried steak on the menu and peanut shells on the floor?"

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Besides the fact that they could kill you?"

Benny grinned again. "I wish you were here," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I'd throw some random foodstuff at you."

"I could smack him upside the head for you," Gibbs offered from his spot near the window, not even looking up from the book. If he had, he would have seen three matching grins.

"Well hey there, Gibbs," Benny said. "Welcome to the party. How are things?"

"Can't complain," Gibbs answered. "But ignore me. You boys don't have all day."

"No," Benny agreed. "But I'll be back soon enough. I'm inviting you all to my opening."

"That's really nice of you, Benny," Tony said, feeling another rush of warmth. _You sure are smart, McGee. But I don't think they taught you this at MI-fucking-T. _"But you need a name before you can have an opening."

"And a Web site," McGee said. "Do you have one yet? You can start creating buzz before you even get back."

Benny nodded. "As a matter of fact, I've been working on that. A friend of mine—great guy, also from Louisiana, I might add—is helping me out. He's a computer genius, like you, Tim. He's got links and menus and color schemes out the wazoo for me to look at. It's pretty good," he said, frowning a little. "Except for the color scheme. It's a little, um, pink for my taste. Makes sense though, 'cause he's, uh, how did he put it? Queerer than a rainbow-flag-wrapped two-dollar bill?"

McGee said, "I can't speak for his computer skills, but he's got a way with words, that guy."

Tony asked, "How is Bubba these days?"

Benny just looked confused, his thoughts on blood loss and brain damage. "Uh, good? Yeah, he's good. But that's kind of random, even for you, Tony. Why do you ask?"

Tony frowned. "I just thought that's who you were talking about. Your gay computer-genius friend from Louisiana?" he supplied, wondering why Benny was looking at him like he'd lost his mind instead of multiple pints of blood that night.

Benny laughed, but he looked uncomfortable. "Nah, it's not Bubba." He paused, looking at Tony oddly. "You okay, Tony?"

Tony looked confused. "Yeah, great. Why wouldn't I be?" He frowned at the look on Benny's face. "What?"

"Well, it's just that, uh," Benny said, trailing off slightly. He met Tony's eyes through the screen.

"Tony, Bubba's not gay."


	42. Chapter 42

Tony could feel everyone's eyes on him, even the pair that were thousands of miles away. He felt a little dizzy, and he pushed away the box of delicious cookies, feeling a sudden sickness that had nothing to do with their sweetness.

"Oh shit," he whispered, closing his eyes so he wouldn't throw up. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit."

McGee leaned across to the webcam. "Hey, Benny? We're gonna go, but I'll shoot you an email later and explain, okay?"

Benny nodded, looking confused and worried. "Yeah, sure. Thanks again, man." He paused, reaching to turn off the connection. "Tim? Take care of him, okay?"

"Will do," McGee said, cutting the connection and turning back to Tony, who was still whispering incoherently. The parade of profanity was getting more colorful, and McGee was glad when Gibbs shooed him off the couch and took his place beside the shaking agent. McGee sat in the big, overstuffed chair beside the couch and watched Gibbs try to get through to Tony.

"Hey," Gibbs said, his hand on Tony's knee again. "Tony? Can you hear me? What is it? Tony?"

Tony just sat, eyes closed and chanting, "Fuck, shit, oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit."

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked.

Tony's eyes snapped open, and he looked around as if remembering where he was and what was happening. His eyes were full of some dark emotion Gibbs couldn't quite place when he said, "Gibbs. I fucked up. Really, really bad."

He looked so desolate and Gibbs realized it was self-loathing burning in his eyes so he joked, "I'm never taking you to New York again, DiNozzo. Your mouth gets ten times worse every time you come back."

Tony didn't smile. He just stared at his bandaged hands as if seeing them for the first time. "It's my fault," he whispered, his voice shaking like a magnitude-7.0 temblor. "It's all my goddamn fault."

"Tony, listen to me," Gibbs said, sharing a worried glance with McGee. "None of this is your fault. You didn't do anything wrong. Tell me what's going on. Why does this matter with Bubba?"

"He's a computer tech," McGee said, thinking about the case—because it was easier than focusing on Tony losing it. "Is he our missing third guy?"

Tony nodded, unable to speak.

Gibbs frowned. "You couldn't have known, DiNozzo. _I _still don't get it."

Tony was shaking so hard Gibbs wanted to throw a blanket over him even though he knew the temperature wasn't the problem. They had all been putting up with the too-warm apartment because none of them had the heart to ask Tony to shut the windows—they all knew why he wanted them open.

Gibbs heard him whispering "All my fault" repeatedly, and he reached out and tapped two fingers under his chin. "Hey, DiNozzo, look at me."

Tony's eyes were filled with a mixture of self-recrimination and pain. "It's all my fault. I could have stopped it before it even happened."

"You're not making any sense, Tony," Gibbs said firmly, pushing down his fear at Tony's rambling, confused, utterly lost state. He took Tony's left hand into his and gave the trembling fingers a hard squeeze. "Look at me. Talk to me. Could have stopped what?"

"This," Tony cried, jerking his hand out of Gibbs' and holding up both. He stared at his bandaged wrists with shame and fear and agony in his eyes. "It didn't have to happen. If I had just… then they wouldn't have… it never would have happened. And it's because I screwed up."

"Tony—"

Tony shot to his feet and took off down the hall after gasping, "I'munnathrowup."

McGee and Gibbs shared a long, confused silence as they heard Tony keeping his promise. When the gagging finally subsided, Tony came back, pressing a wash cloth to his mouth and looking calmer. He dropped the cloth onto the coffee table and dropped back onto the couch, curling up as far from Gibbs as he could get.

"I caught them in a laundry room one night," Tony said, sounding detached and distant. "Bubba and Lowe. It was late, I couldn't sleep, and so I went wandering and I heard voices. I opened the door and saw Bubba with his pants down. There was a condom lying there and I turned around, told them to zip it up. It wasn't a condom. It was a balloon."

Gibbs blinked as understanding dawned in his eyes. "They were working on a way to beat the drug tests. Bubba must have been using." He frowned, wincing when Tony jerked out of his grasp as he tried to reach for him again. "But DiNozzo, you misread the situation. A lot of people would have come to the conclusion you did. That's no reason to be this upset."

Tony's eyes were unnervingly blank again as he looked up at Gibbs. Then he smiled so sadly it made the older man flinch. "But Gibbs," he said, completely inflectionless. "I let them go. I covered up their 'relationship' thinking I was doing the right thing. They both would have gotten tossed for it, and none of this would have ever happened. It's my fault, Gibbs. I fucked up." He laughed bitterly, looking down at his wrists. "I deserve this."

McGee flinched at the words, but Gibbs just slid closer to his shaking agent and took his hands, holding firmly when Tony tried to pull away. Gibbs didn't want to hurt him, but he knew the only way to break through the daze was physical contact.

"You listen to me, DiNozzo," he said fiercely. "You did not deserve what they did to you. No matter what was really going on out there, you did what you thought was right. You were trying to help them, and they had no right to hurt you. You did not deserve this. And I don't ever want to hear you say that again. You got me?"

Tony looked at him for a long time before nodding and whispering, "I got you, Boss."

"Good," Gibbs said, the word carrying his enormous relief as he released Tony's hands and moved out of his space now that he had calmed down. "This is good. We're going to Vance tomorrow, and now we have this and the fact that you couldn't have done this with your hand that bad. He'll see that he was wrong."

"And he'll have to let us pull them all off the ship," McGee added, feeling a weight heavier than a Buick lifting from his shoulders. "We've got them. I need to call Ziva."

Gibbs watched Tony try to process everything through his drugged haze, while McGee explained their revelation about Bubba North to Ziva. "Put her on speaker," Gibbs said, glad McGee had thought to call her. She had worked herself half to death right along with them and deserved to be a part of this discussion—not to mention she always had a unique perspective to add to their team dynamic.

"Tony?" she said from the phone. "I told you not to give up," she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

But Tony couldn't quite share her enthusiasm. "I hate to sound like a broken record," he said tiredly, "but how does this prove anything has to do with me?"

Gibbs heard the exhaustion in his agent's voice and knew that was part of the reason he was missing the connection. "Because, DiNozzo," he said patiently—or what passed for patiently for him, "they knew you're friends with Benny. That's why they chose a Thursday night—so you would be alone. North and Benny knew each other. They had to know that you would find out sooner or later that North wasn't gay and that you'd start making connections."

"Why not just kill Benny then?" Tony asked. "One sailor going overboard is a lot less suspicious than killing the agent afloat."

"Because there are other ways for you to find out," McGee said. "Getting rid of Benny doesn't get rid of the problem—one slip from anyone to you about a girlfriend and it's all over. But getting rid of you does solve it."

"Girlfriends… Squire," Ziva's voice came suddenly from the speakerphone. They heard her frustration as clearly as if she were in Tony's living room with them. "North mentioned how hot she was when I interviewed him. That makes no sense if he was gay. I missed that."

"It would if he were trying to sell his cover," Tony said.

"Or it was a slip. How much you wanna bet North is her mystery boyfriend?" Gibbs said, glad Tony seemed back in the game. Gibbs knew he must be struggling valiantly against his tiredness and the drug-induced fogginess, and Gibbs was proud of him for his effort.

McGee nodded, running a hand over the smooth black leather of the chair he was sitting in as he thought out loud. "That makes sense. It would explain why she seduced Daly and why she never mentioned her boyfriend's name. They'd have gotten in big trouble for continuing their relationship while on board the ship. Squire might even have been there that night. She would have been small enough to hide."

"I bet she was unsettled by your interview with her about Daly," Gibbs said, giving Tony a small smile. "You knew she was lying but not about what, and that scared her. She goes back to North, Lowe and Willis and tells them you're suspicious."

"We've been looking at this all wrong all along," McGee said, shaking his head. "We thought it didn't make sense that they would attack you before they got the scam up and running because you hadn't started investigating yet. But it was the simple fact that _you_ would be the investigator if anyone caught on. Coupled with the fact that you and Benny were friends and he could reveal their lie, they just couldn't have you around as the agent afloat."

"And that is when they decided to have Willis start the fight, hoping you would get hurt and reassigned," Ziva picked up.

Tony made an odd little noise in the back of his throat. "Should I be glad their first thought wasn't to kill me?"

Gibbs was about to try to answer that when McGee said, "Oh damn. They might never have meant to kill you anyway. The blindfold… and I bet they didn't talk, right? Benny said North is the one who made him leave the night he found you. Bubba made up the story about remembering something about Palamar so he could come back to pretend to 'save' you—or at least 'try'. So he would look like a good guy and throw suspicion off himself."

"I heard one of them," Tony said, trying to place the voice as Bubba's. "But I was still half-sleep, and you're right, they didn't talk once I was fully awake." _And struggling and trying to scream and silently begging for it to be over. _"But why not just put my gun to my head? If I didn't die, they had to know I'd say I was attacked."

"If you remembered," Gibbs said, wondering why Tony looked so pale all of a sudden. He almost didn't speak his next revelation. "Or if you ever woke up."

Tony said what Gibbs didn't. "And no one would believe me anyway. Everyone would think I had tried to kill myself, failed, and made up the attackers as a cover. And the attackers would be safe because I would look crazy and have no one to back up my story."

"They did not know you had us," Ziva said firmly, her conviction evident even over the distance.

"And," Gibbs said, "they went to a lot of trouble making it look like a suicide attempt. Not only was cutting you quieter than a gunshot, but they also knew that shooting you would make the possibility of foul play a lot more believable to anyone who might investigate."

"And shooting you would take away North's opportunity to play hero," McGee added. He grimaced, but soldiered on. If Tony wasn't going to tiptoe around the harsh facts, then McGee felt he owed it to him to be as brave. "Whether you died of your 'self-inflicted' wounds or he saved you and you came across as crazy, it was, uh, win-win for them."

"North came back for the same reason he ratted out Palamar," Gibbs said, watching Tony blanch at McGee's words. But Tony composed himself quickly, and Gibbs continued, "Makes himself look good."

"And it throws suspicion off the drug-testing," Ziva reasoned. "You would have found out about Palamar and Daly, and everyone would think it was over with a new UC, with Lowe taking over. They would think the problem was solved."

Gibbs nodded, watching Tony think. "And," Gibbs added, "Palamar was using. North wouldn't want anything—especially his own bunkmate—linking him to drug use."

"You will be able to link North to the computer trail, right, McGee?" Ziva asked.

He nodded even though she couldn't see him. "Yeah, now that I know who I'm looking for, it should be easy. I'll do it tonight." He looked up and met DiNozzo's eyes. "We've got them, Tony," he said, smiling.

Tony didn't match the expression. "It's not concrete," he said softly. He remembered Ziva on the speakerphone and said a little louder, "We've got them on the scam, but what if Vance won't buy this either?"

"He will," Gibbs said firmly, watching Tony carefully rub his eyes. "No matter what he's got against you, he can't ignore this."

Tony looked up at Gibbs, fragile hope blooming in his verdant gaze. "You really think so?"

Gibbs nodded, his chest squeezing tightly at the trust in Tony's eyes. "Yeah, Tony, I do. I think this whole mess is almost over."


	43. Chapter 43

She found him on his balcony, staring out across a city blanketed in hazy heat. She stood behind the plastic chair he sat in, and she eyed his dead plant, still sitting in the same pot as it had the night before he left. She found herself wishing she had come by to water it.

"You shouldn't be out here," Abby said softly, looking out into the night and wishing she could see his face. She knew she could simply sink into the empty chair beside him, but she didn't move from her place on the threshold.

"You hear that?" he asked softly.

She flinched at his volume, his sadness. She could see in the tension in his muscles under the thin T-shirt, and she wondered why she couldn't actually see the shroud of anguish the whole experience had draped over him.

"Hear what?" she asked, having no idea what he was talking about.

"My protection detail is snoring on my couch," he said, not turning. But she heard the soft smile, the light amusement—and the despair he desperately tried to shield from her.

"All the more reason not to be out here," she ventured, wanting to touch him and make sure he was real. She wanted to look into his green eyes and make sure this quietly shattered man was really her Tony—that there was something left of him under the pain.

_No, that's not right, _she thought, shaking her head slightly. No, really she wanted to find that a stranger had taken up residence in his body. She wanted him safe from the anguish.

"Everyone who tried to kill me is thousands of miles away," he said, his thoughts sounding equally as far off. But he shook his head slightly, unknowingly imitating her earlier movements. "I'm safe here. Snug as a bug in a rug."

The sadness was completely gone this time.

She wanted it back.

"How do you do it?" she asked, almost to herself. She knew she had whispered it, but she also knew he had heard her. "_Why_ do you do it?" she asked, more forcefully.

"Do what, Abbs?" he asked, his tone drooping with the heavy fruit of understanding.

"Hide from us," she said, suddenly angry. "Hide from me, Tony. Why?"

He thought about turning around to face her but found he lacked the requisite strength to face an angry Abby. Because an angry Abby was almost always also a hurt Abby. He thought about her tirade in her lab the night Kate died, but he forced those serrated memories away. He couldn't handle her pain on top of his own just then.

"I hate it that you're so cavalier with your own safety," she said when she realized he wasn't going to answer her. The sentence started out furious and stalled spectacularly halfway out of her black-ringed mouth and finished up weak as water. "Someone tried to kill you."

He didn't move anything but his mouth. "I know. Was there, Abbs."

She took a deep breath, forcing her imagination into submission and willing away that bloody scene. His chenille-soft voice was grating on her, though, and she said, "You almost died from the plague and you were back within weeks. That's insane, Tony. Your breathing was still all wrong, and what if you had been chasing a suspect or something? You never seem to realize that it's not just about you. How do you think we would have felt if we had lost you? After we had just gotten you back from death's doorstep."

"If I hadn't come back, Kate and McGee would have died in that bomb blast," he said, sounding as tired as if he had just run a marathon—backwards and uphill.

"Kate did die," Abby said, feeling a stab of guilt when she saw his flinch even from her position behind him. "Your coming back early didn't stop that."

"Know that, too," he said, his voice low and rough. "I still wake up with her blood on my face."

Abby's eyes closed as twin tears slipped down her cheeks. She moved to his side, pulling the chair across the small balcony. His face was a study in agony, but she forced her eyes to stay there. She lifted a hand and settled it on the back of the bandaged wrist resting heavily on the arm of the chair.

"I'm sorry, Tony," she whispered, wincing when he wouldn't look at her. His hand was completely, forcibly still under her quivering one. "That's not what I meant. I meant that you can't be responsible for everything. Bad things happen no matter what we do. You came back early and gave us another day with her, and I'll always be grateful for those precious hours, but she still died. None of us could have stopped her death."

She paused, taking a deep breath before softly saying, "Just like you couldn't have saved your mother."

He finally looked at her, his eyes wide, showcasing his pain like a mural. "How… How did you know I was thinking about her?"

Abby looked down at their layered hands. "The photo you hide on your bookshelf was facing the opposite direction."

He nodded with a whisper of movement.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

"That that's just the tiny kind of thing that gets you killed if you're working undercover."

She blinked. "Oh."

They were silent for a while, Abby watching Tony stare out over the city. She glanced out at the hazy summer-night view and knew he wasn't seeing any of the twinkling lights below. She had no idea what he was thinking, but she knew it wouldn't be good.

"I never said anything," he said after a long moment. "I knew she wasn't well and I said nothing."

"You were just a kid, Tony," Abby said, her eyes moving back to his face. He looked exhausted.

"If the house had been on fire and I just sat there making s'mores in the flames, would you say the same thing?" he asked with no trace of humor.

"That's not the same," Abby said carefully. She cursed her decision to come here tonight because she seemed to be saying all the wrong things. But he had sounded so sad when he called to tell her they had made a break in the case, and she had found that to be completely wrong. He should be happy it was all almost over. Her eyes dropped to his wrists and she realized that, in a way, it would never be over. He was going to be marked for life—in so many ways that it made her ache for his suffering.

"It's easy for you to sit here and tell me not to blame myself," he said, no anger in his tone—nothing in it, really. He simply stared unblinkingly into the darkness as he continued, "But how guilty did you feel when you thought I'd tried to kill myself? Did you read my letters again before giving them to Gibbs? Did you try to find what you'd missed?"

Had he been looking at her, her guilt would likely have swallowed him—and stopped him. But he didn't look at her. He didn't see her remembering doing just that. He just continued, "I don't have the uncertainty, Abby. I know what I 'missed'. I know she took her own life."

"I'm so sorry, Tony," she said, stunned into shaky numbness. Her words were as flat as his, and he finally looked at her. There was an ocean of remorse in his green depths.

"No, Abbs, it's my fault," he said, watching her cry silently. "You're here trying to help, and I lay that on you." He looked away and whispered to the night, "No wonder everyone leaves me."

"No, don't," she said forcefully, reaching out and touching his face. "We aren't going anywhere. You're my best friend, Tony, and I will never leave you."

"She was my mother. And she knew what he was like," he whispered, a fine shiver defying the temperature to run down his slightly damp spine. "And she left me."

She watched long-buried pain and fear flick through his eyes, only to be replaced by resignation. Her eyes widened in understanding. "It's not just them, is it?"

His eyes closed again and he tilted his head back in a poor imitation of star-gazing. "I'm so scared, Abbs," he admitted, making her blink in shock. "I've never felt so lost in all my life. Even the day he kicked me out for good and I had nowhere to go. Even when I was lying on that field, barely registering the pain because I was only seeing all my dreams slipping away. It never hurt like this. Because I'd never had anything worth losing before."

"Oh, Tony," she said, getting up and settling carefully in his lap. She buried her face in his neck and held on for dear life. She was surprised at the strength in his hands as he did the same. They stayed that way for a long time, both wondering how their combined shaking hadn't brought down the entire building. She finally felt his tremors subside and she sat up, wiping the tears from her face and kissing the lone tear that had made its slow roll down his pale cheek.

She saw him smile, saw it warm his eyes and realized that single tear had carried away a massive weight in grief. "You'll always have us. No matter what," she said.

And he believed her.

* * *

McGee sat on Tony's couch the following morning, his foot bouncing impatiently as he waited for Tony to be ready to leave for the Navy Yard. Gibbs had called an hour ago and told McGee to bring Tony in for a meeting with Vance.

"Geez, Tony? Would you hurry up? This isn't some hot date," McGee called, standing and moving toward the hall. He stopped short when Tony stepped from the bathroom with a small smile and not a single line of tension on his face.

The suit was dark, and it fit him well; the shirt and tie sharp and neat. But it was Tony himself that made McGee stop and stare. Without the baggy sweats and T-shirt, with the bruise faded from his clean-shaven jaw, with the bandages hidden under his suit sleeves, he looked like _Tony_. Even the splint cradling his right hand didn't detract from the image because, well, Tony had gotten his fair share of on-the-job injuries in his time at NCIS.

McGee just smiled. "Welcome back, DiNozzo."


	44. Chapter 44

McGee's words echoed in Tony's head as they drove. His earlier calm—brought on in a way that only Abby could—was slowly slipping away. He wasn't sure he could quite allow himself to believe them, to let himself even begin to think about believing them. Despite Abby's reassurances that had helped him fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, there was still so much that could go wrong. He had lied to cover up a relationship among crew members, and Vance could use that against him. He could also continue his stubbornness and refuse to believe the new evidence was enough.

And even if Vance did finally concede that Tony had been attacked, it didn't mean he would reassign the agent to his old duty station, let alone his old team. The thought of being shipped back out to sea made all of his doubts of the previous night awaken with growled yawns within him.

McGee was watching his silent passenger as closely as the traffic-snarled roads allowed, and he saw the flicker of pain pass across his face. "You okay?" he asked, keeping his eyes focused firmly forward.

"Huh?" Tony asked, startled out of his thoughts. "Oh, yeah, I'm good."

"He has to believe it," McGee said with certainty. "He will."

Tony nodded as he looked out the window at the sunny morning. But he couldn't help himself. "And if he doesn't?"

McGee shot him a look. "Then Gibbs will go over his head if he has to. You know he's not afraid to challenge authority."

The unspoken corollary to that thought hung between them: _And you know he'd do anything for you._

"Thanks, Probie," Tony said quietly. "For everything. You've really gone above and beyond your responsibilities as my partner. Especially considering we're not anymore."

McGee swallowed hard at the sentiment, at his dropped guard. "No matter what happens, Tony, you'll always be my friend."

Tony wanted to make a joke, and he was pretty sure McGee wanted him to, too, just to break the awkwardish silence that had invaded the car. But he didn't. He didn't want to cheapen the moment with some crass bit of humor.

"Thanks, Tim."

* * *

Gibbs was waiting in Abby's lab when they arrived. And so were Ducky, Palmer and Ziva. Tony's throat tightened as he realized they were all there simply to support him. Abby wrapped him a gentle but still full-contact hug, and he whispered into her soft black hair, "Thanks for last night, Abbs."

She pulled back, gave him a look that said all was well and then smiled. "You look seriously hot in that suit, DiNozzo."

Tony winced, looking down slightly. "Eh, it's kind of an old one," he said, grimacing. "From when I first started here, from my first day, actually. I guess I was slightly less, uh, well-fed back then."

Gibbs eyed his lanky frame. "Thought I recognized that one."

Ziva narrowed pretty dark eyes at him. "We will have to keep feeding you then."

Tony thought about her last meal and tried not to throw up. He told himself it was just his nerves.

He saw Ducky watching him tug his sleeve past the bandages. He had adjusted the gauze, pulling it as far from his knuckles as possible, and he hoped the doctor wouldn't notice. He'd gotten a lecture on keeping the wounds well-covered to avoid infection just days before.

But Ducky just said, "Good luck, my dear boy. Although I doubt you'll need it. He would be a fool not to heed my report. And he's had it since 0700 so I think it has had plenty of time to sink in. Not to mention the new evidence you have to present to him."

"Thanks, Ducky," he said, feeling his throat go tight again as he realized how early Ducky must have started that report. "And thanks for coming, Palmer. It's nice to know everyone cares."

Jimmy looked at him, probably having expected sarcasm or a joke. He just smiled. "Anytime, Tony."

"Ready?" Gibbs asked, turning for the door.

Tony tugged at his tie, trying to get used to the feel of it after such a long absence. "Do I have a choice?"

Gibbs smiled. "Nope."

* * *

Vance was waiting for them as they filed into the office, but he wasn't at his desk. He had his back to them and he didn't turn from the window. Tony glimpsed his eyes in the glass, though, and frowned. He could have sworn he saw pain in them.

_What the hell? I skipped the painkillers this morning so I know I'm not seeing things. Is he _that_ upset at having to admit he was wrong?_

"You wanted to see me, Director?" Tony asked, watching Gibbs flick a slightly wide-eyed glance at his perfectly calm tone. He saw the older man fight a smile as he shook his head.

Vance finally turned and Tony saw his eyes land on his wrists. DiNozzo fought the urge to look down and make sure the evidence of his injuries was covered. _Why the hell is he looking at me like that?_

"I don't believe your presence is required at this meeting, Agent Gibbs," Vance said, and Tony almost winced at his tight as a piano string words.

As Gibbs opened his mouth to protest, DiNozzo said, "Thanks for the escort, Gibbs. I can take it from here."

Gibbs' gaze flicked from Vance's stone face to his agent, taking in the steely determination, the ramrod-straight posture, and back to Vance. Gibbs didn't speak. He simply gave Tony a pat on the back as he passed and a look that said, _I hope you know what you're doing, DiNozzo. _

Tony nodded to Gibbs and turned his eyes back to Vance's as he heard the soft click of the door. Vance finally tore his gaze from DiNozzo's sleeves and met his eyes.

_Oh, shit._

_Why the hell do I always have to be right about these things?_

"Thank you for seeing me," Vance said stiffly.

_As if I had a choice. Because if I had, I would definitely _not_ be standing here right now about to have this conversation—and damn the consequences. _

DiNozzo looked into Vance's troubled eyes and said, "I see you've read Dr. Mallard's report."

Vance blinked, obviously caught off-guard. "I have."

"And you agree with his findings?" Tony asked, wanting to bring up the previous evening's revelations, but knowing it wasn't the right time.

Vance actually flinched.

_Goddammit. And I was actually _terrified_ at the thought of this? This is going to be so, so much easier on me than it will be for him. _

"I know you couldn't have done … that … to yourself," Vance said, his voice strained with emotion as his eyes dropped to Tony's wrists again. "And I'm sorry that I doubted you, Agent DiNozzo."

There were so many things he could say to that. If he didn't know what he was fairly certain he knew, he would have mocked, exploded, raged, pulled out the sarcasm that was always within his reach. But he didn't.

Because he did know.

Tony nodded, watching Vance watch him over the desk separating them. Tony debated for another half-second.

"So who was it?" he asked softly.

He watched admiration war with grief on the director's face before his eyes closed and he turned back to the window. "My sister," he quietly told the scenery outside.

Tony didn't offer his condolences—not yet anyway because he knew Vance wasn't done. A part of Tony wanted to taunt him, to torture him, to make the man suffer as he had been made to suffer, but he held it all back. This wasn't about him.

It never had been about him.

And he knew the bitter sting of guilt when he saw it.

That guilt was mixed with grief as Vance turned back and moved around the desk, sitting on its edge while waving Tony into a chair in front of him. Tony sat, flicking a glance downward to make sure his bandages were safely tucked under his sleeves.

"She was nineteen," he said, and Tony gave him credit for keeping his eyes glued to his own. "She was away at college in another state. I was in high school, second period math class, when they came to tell me. As soon as I saw my parents outside that door, I just knew. And I hated myself that it didn't surprise me in the least. That meant I should have done something. Before."

Vance finally dropped his eyes to the floor and repeated, "I should have done something."

Tony didn't speak. He wasn't sure if it was because he was still angry enough to be unable to offer this man comfort or if it was because he knew there was no comfort for what Vance was feeling.

Vance took a steadying breath and looked up again, his eyes resolute. "I'm sorry, DiNozzo. I am. I know you're a damned fine agent, and I should never have doubted you. But I swore after my sister that I would never be blindsided again. I got into this office because I'm good at reading people. And I saw your strength that day in the desert when you first laid eyes on Gibbs. The tension between you two was as plain as the sand at our feet, but you hung in there. You didn't give an inch. And when that report from the Seahawk crossed my desk last week, with big, glossy photos of your wounds, I just couldn't get that out of my head. I couldn't consider any other possibility. And just thinking that I had been wrong about you made me furious. Like it was somehow your fault I hadn't kept my promise to my sister."

"You don't owe me an explanation, Director," Tony said, watching Vance's hands shake.

Vance raised an eyebrow. He straightened determinedly. "I owe you a hell of a lot more than an explanation. An apology doesn't even seem like enough for what I've put you through. And that's why I'm going to do everything in my power to make this right, DiNozzo. Anything you need, consider it done."

Tony breathed an inward sigh of relief, but he said, "I screwed up, too. I filed a false report concerning the relationship between North and Lowe. I thought they were a couple, and I let them off the hook with a slap on the wrist and a made-up story about a poker game. I don't think you can quite sweep that misjudgment under the rug."

Vance gave him a look. "You forgetting I'm the director of this agency?"

Tony blinked in surprise at the complete turnaround, but his expression darkened. "It could come up at trial that I lied. Destroys my credibility."

Vance shook his head, thinking about what he knew about the case. It shamed him to realize he hadn't been following it closely because of his clouded judgment and personal issues getting in the way. "You found them in an illegal poker game, right? Then that's what happened."

DiNozzo just stared at him.

"If it even comes up," Vance said, "then it's the word of two lying scumbags against the word of one of my finest agents. I'll take the stand myself to vouch for your credibility."

Vance's about-face shouldn't have surprised anyone, let alone Tony—he knew as well as anyone how strong a motivator guilt could be. "It's not that simple," Tony said, wishing it could be. "I thought they were gay because they were testing a way to beat the drug tests. They knew I'd find out that they weren't, and that's the final link between the scam and their assault on me."

Vance thought for a moment. "I think your only mistake was misfiling that second report on their relationship," he said. "But paperwork has never been your strong suit, has it?"

"No," Tony said slowly. "It isn't. Do you really think that will fly?"

Vance nodded. "I've got a lot of pull in this little city. I'll find a judge that will make sure it flies." He paused. "You really think any of that will matter once Gibbs gets them in an interrogation room?"

Tony smiled. "Thank you, Director."

Vance nodded, meeting Tony's eyes again. "There is the also the matter of your assignment upon your return from medical leave."

_No, please no, _Tony's insecurities screamed.

"There happens to be an opening on an MCRT right here," Vance said, his smile turning bemused. "A certain supervisory special agent made sure of that. It's yours, effective immediately. If you want it."

DiNozzo grinned. _I love you, Gibbs. _"I'd really like that."

Tony's smile faded slightly as Vance nodded. "I know I'll need to pass a psych evaluation for that to happen, though."

Vance stood and moved back behind his desk. He waved a hand dismissively. "I see no reason for you to do that until you're medically cleared for field work."

Tony nodded, then grimaced, thinking about how long he was going to be stuck behind a desk because of his injuries—probably long enough to make him actually go insane.

Vance saw the look. "And you will be riding a desk until then, Agent DiNozzo. No excuses." He smiled. "I can't let people think I've gone soft up here."

"Yeah, about that," Tony said, scratching the back of his head and then quickly tugging his sleeve down. "Should we yell for a minute or two? Throw something?"

Vance smiled. "I don't think that will be necessary. But it's nice of you to offer."

Tony walked to the door, but he turned back, his eyes telling Vance he wouldn't betray his confidence. "I'm sorry about your sister, Leon. I never thought that would be the one thing we'd find in common."

Vance shook his head. "That's not the only thing."

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"Bull-headed and stubborn as mules, we are," Vance said, looking back down at a file on his desk. "Welcome back, Agent DiNozzo."


	45. Chapter 45

Tony paused outside Vance's office and leaned on the parapet's glass wall. He looked down at his team—_his team_—and saw his hands start to shake. He took a deep breath and shoved off the wall, descending the stairs quietly and stopping beside his empty desk. Gibbs was the first to notice his presence, and the quiet understanding in his icy blue eyes made Tony's throat go tight. He realized everyone was watching him and he simply sat down at his desk and flipped the monitor on.

McGee's face broke into a grin and he asked, hopefully, "Definitely, DiNozzo?"

Tony nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Definitely, Probie."

Ziva's grin matched McGee's, their happiness outweighing their curiosity, but Gibbs just shook his head. "You even think about field work before you're fully healed and I will shoot you myself."

Tony grinned. "Got it, Boss."

Abby chose that exact moment to come streaking into the squad room, and she landed in Tony's lap with an ear-splitting shriek of joy. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Tony, you're back. You're really back?"

She pulled away and stopped trying to break his ribs long enough to get a grin and a nod before burying her face in his neck again. "I missed you so, so much."

"You saw me last night," he said, trying to shift her into a more comfortable position—one in which her spikes and chains _weren't _impaling his thigh.

She slid off him and perched on the corner of his barren desk. She plucked his Mighty Mouse stapler from her pocket and placed it in its usual spot, drawing matching grins from most everyone in the room. "There. Much better."

Gibbs held up a hand before she could launch into a victory speech. "Hate to the break up the party," he said, drawing a raised eyebrow from Tony and almost laughing out loud at the familiarity of it, "but we still have work to do."

"Right," McGee said, nodding. "We need to get Lowe, Willis and North pulled off the ship and brought here."

"Do we have enough to pull Squire, as well?" Ziva asked.

Gibbs shook his head. "Probably not. But one of the three might roll on her."

Tony lifted a shoulder. "There's another way to find out if she was involved. Drug-test her. If she was using and she had clean tests, that gives her motive."

Gibbs grinned at him. "Welcome back, DiNozzo."

* * *

Tony sat on a cold, shiny autopsy table later that afternoon and tried not to fidget. Ducky held his left wrist in his warm grasp, and Tony wondered why the doctor's hands were never cold in this chilled room. Even without the lowered temperature, he found himself thinking Ducky's hands should have become permanently cooled by the cold flesh he touched daily. But as the doctor ran a gentle finger down the long sutured wound in his wrist, Tony felt only soft warmth.

"They ready?" Tony asked, trying to keep his nervousness out of his voice. He desperately wanted the stitches out—and not just because they itched as if the wounds were packed with wool.

Ducky nodded slowly. "I would say so," he said, looking up and meeting Tony's eyes. He gave the agent a soft smile. "Let me gather my things."

Tony watched him rummage through a drawer and couldn't help looking down and studying the healing wounds. He knew having the stitches removed wasn't going to erase them—not even close—but he also knew it was another milestone to be celebrated in his long recovery. Even so, he couldn't help wondering if he would ever be able to see the scars and not feel the pain and terror of the brutal attack.

Ducky returned, taking Tony's left hand in his again, and Tony was suddenly extremely grateful for the contact. It reminded him—as much as Abby's hugs did—that there were people who could touch him without hurting him. He had noticed his own skittishness with people in his space lately, and he hoped no one else had—and that it wasn't going to be permanent.

"This might hurt a bit," Ducky said, his voice as gentle as his touch.

Tony lifted his right shoulder. "I don't care," he said. "I just want them gone."

Ducky nodded knowingly as he began removing the numerous stitches. The silence got to Tony before the discomfort, and he said, "You know, this reminds me of 'Frankenstein.' "

Ducky smiled and shook his head, still focusing on his slow work and trying to be as gentle as possible. It wasn't often that his patients could still feel. "The book or the movie?"

"Really, Ducky?" Tony asked wryly.

"Ah, Anthony," Ducky said, looking up for a moment. "We both know you own almost as many books as movies."

Tony flushed, remembering that Ducky had been in his apartment several times, checking up on him after one concussion or another. "I really was thinking about the movie, though, thanks to this lovely visual here. And not that crappy, cheap rip-off from 2005. Or 1994—even though that one was directed by Kenneth Branagh and nominated for an Oscar. I mean the real 'Frankenstein.' 1931, Boris Karloff as the Monster, Colin Clive as Dr. Frankenstein." He sighed contentedly. "So good."

Ducky smiled, apologizing when he felt Tony's flinch as he removed a stubborn stitch. Tony was about to launch into a long speech about the directorial skills of one James Whale when McGee walked through the pressurized doors. Tony met his eyes over Ducky's shoulder and saw him blanch when he realized what he had walked in on.

"Sorry, Tony," he said, backing toward the doors and almost dropping the file in his hand. "I'll come back."

Tony shook his head. "Nah, stay," he said lightly, seeing McGee pull his eyes determinedly away from his injuries. "I was about to bore Ducky to death with the greatness of the amazing James Whale, director of the 1931 classic 'Frankenstein.' It's probably better that you distract me before I talk him into a coma. Then I'd never get these damned things out."

McGee nodded, approaching but carefully keeping his eyes averted from Ducky's work as he removed the splint from Tony's broken right hand and began removing the stitches from that wrist.

"Tell me if I hurt you," Ducky said softly, keeping his grip on the damaged hand light.

"James Whale?" McGee asked. "As is W-a-i-l? Like a scream? And he directed a horror movie?"

"Bite your tongue, McBlasphemy," Tony teased, hearing the tension in McGee's voice. "Not just 'a horror movie,' Probie. One of the best horror movies of all time. Just proves you don't need blood and guts and shrieking B-list actresses to be scary." He glanced down at his wrist and winced. "Well, blood and guts works, too, I guess. I mean, look at 'House of a Thousand Corpses' directed by Rob Zombie. Abby and I loved that one, blood and guts and all. Did you know his wife's a stripper? Mrs. Zombie, that is?"

Tony realized he was rambling and almost wished he had let McGee leave. They would probably both be more comfortable that way.

But Ducky saved him, saying, "And it's James Whale, like the sea creature, so I suppose it's also somewhat appropriate considering the multiple uses of the word 'creature' in Mary Shelley's novel. Did you know she wrote it as a teenager? In a contest of sorts, along with participants Percy Bysshe Shelley—her future husband—and Lord Byron one summer in Switzerland. The weather was apparently dreadful so the three retired by the fire to read ghost stories and decided to write their own. Her novel began as a short story, but the rest, as they say, is history."

Tony threw him a grateful look. "And a really great movie. Whatcha got there?" he asked McGee.

McGee looked down at the file in his hand. "Unrelated case," he said, somewhat unsettled by Tony's nervousness.

"Huh," Tony said. "Anything interesting?"

McGee suddenly wished he were a better liar. "Suicide," he said with a grimace.

Tony just looked at him. "Chill out, McGoo," he said. "You don't have to tiptoe around me. How many suicides have we worked together? I never freaked out at any of those, and I'm not going to start now."

McGee smiled sheepishly. "You puked at the one out in Culpeper."

Tony grinned even as he tried to glare at the younger agent. "_That_ was entirely because of Gibbs' god-awful driving. I swear it's getting worse, too. Maybe it has something to do with his eyesight because—oh hey, Boss," he said to the man who suddenly swept through the doors. He winced and pulled off a better glare at McGee.

Gibbs wasn't smiling, and Tony wondered if it was because he was as uncomfortable as McGee with Ducky's tending to his bared wounds. Gibbs met Tony's eyes for a split-second, but it was long enough for DiNozzo to know something was really wrong. _Hell, what now? I can't take much more…_

"Can I speak with you outside, Ducky?" Gibbs asked, the formality drawing all of their eyes.

Ducky looked up at Tony, who nodded at his silent question. Ducky had just pulled the last of the stitches from his healing skin, and Tony rubbed his left hand over the stinging wound in his right as he and McGee watched the two older men leave the room.

"You get into granddad's stash of Scotch again, brother?" Tony asked, not quite masking his uneasiness.

McGee snorted. "No way. 'Dad' would kill me."

Tony grinned, but it faded as he looked down at the wounds and realized what he had been trying to prepare himself for all along: They still looked bad. And it wasn't just the slight redness from Ducky's gentle removal of the stitches. He bit his lip, hoping McGee would be too focused on Gibbs' sudden weirdness to notice his distress.

He should have known better.

"You okay, Tony?" McGee asked softly, approaching him somewhat warily where he sat on the autopsy table.

Tony sighed. "I guess I just wanted…" He stopped, crossing his arms over his chest to hide the damage and gasping in pain when he jarred his unprotected broken hand. "Shit."

He looked up to find McGee looking at him, obviously debating something.

"Say it, Probie," Tony said quietly.

McGee opened his mouth but closed it again before saying, "Listen, Tony. They're not pretty. I'm not going to lie to you because you know better. And because you're my friend. And people are going to judge you for them." He saw Tony flinch but he kept going. "Let them. They don't know you. They have no idea the depth of your strength like we do so just ignore them. I'm not going to give you some crap cliché line about what doesn't kill us making us stronger."

Tony gave him a small smile. "You're too good a writer for clichés."

McGee smiled back, but he wasn't done yet, and Tony knew it, gave him credit for his determination. "But we _are_ the sum of our experiences. And those scars are as much a part of you as anything else you've been through—good or bad. They're no different from that scar under your chin. You got hurt, you healed, and you moved on. I don't know what you see when you look at your wrists, but all I see are reminders of your incredible strength."

"Whoa," Tony said, unable to think of anything else to say to that. He was mostly trying not to cry.

McGee winced. "Too much?" he asked, studying Tony's impossibly blank yet stunned face. "It sounded less sappy in my head."

Tony laughed. "Nah, McGee. It sounded just right. Thanks, Probie."

Gibbs and Ducky came back at that moment, Ducky looking as troubled as Gibbs had when he first arrived, and Tony felt his stomach drop to the floor.

"What, Gibbs?" Tony asked, his voice only slightly strained. "Just tell me."

Gibbs met his eyes and took a slow breath. "Stick tested Squire. She was positive for drugs."

Tony frowned. "And the bad news?"

Gibbs almost smiled. "Stick also rounded up Lowe and Willis to send them back here. They're currently cooling their heels in the brig on the ship."

"And the bad news?" Tony repeated, feeling suddenly sick.

Gibbs found his eyes again. "They can't find North."

Tony frowned again, thinking over the Seahawk's schedule. "They're in the middle of the ocean. He has to be on the ship. I mean, I know it's huge and there are a million places to hide, but he has to be on it."

The look in Gibbs' eyes made Tony's churning gut hit spin-cycle, and he felt the blood drain from his face.

"And the rest of the bad news?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Gibbs regarded him with an odd mixture of determination and sadness. "They can't find Benny either."


	46. Chapter 46

Tony just sat there, unconsciously cradling his injured hand to his chest. The damaged limb protested with each of his gulped breaths. He felt all of their eyes on him as he tried to pry his thoughts from the sticky-sharp claws of guilt. Gibbs' meeting with Ducky in the hall suddenly made sense.

"I'm going, Gibbs," he said forcefully, sliding off the autopsy table only to wobble on traitorously weak knees. His voice was stronger than his legs, though, and he said, "I don't care if I have to stay cuffed to one of you the whole time. I'm going. You can't make me stay here. Not with Benny missing. Not when it's my fault that bastard has him. Please, Gibbs," he pleaded, both with his words and his eyes. "Please."

Gibbs just looked at him. "Not your fault, DiNozzo," he said calmly.

And Tony exploded.

"How can you say that?" he yelled, rounding the table and advancing on Gibbs with equal parts pain and fury backlighting his green eyes. "None of this would have happened if I'd had my damned head on straight out there. This is my fault. I swear someday I'm going to learn to stop getting close to people. You'd think I'd have learned by now that it never ends well for them. I need a goddamned stay-the-hell-away-from-me sign, preferably done in bright fucking neon."

"Tony, calm down," McGee said, holding up his hands as he approached his raging partner. "We'll find them."

Tony turned dark eyes on him. "And if we don't?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"We will," Gibbs said firmly, his tone hard. "And the sooner you let Ducky finish with you, the sooner we leave. Vance has us cleared all the way out to the Seahawk. I don't know what you said to him, but it was obviously the right thing."

Tony looked at his feet, his anger gone as suddenly as it had come, melted away by burning shame at his outburst. "We understand each other," he offered, unwilling to say any more.

"Yeah?" Gibbs said, stuffing down his curiosity—he was pretty sure he knew what that understanding was. "And so do we, DiNozzo. I meant it when I said I wasn't giving up on this case."

Tony nodded, making his way back to Ducky and wondering if he should apologize for his language.

Gibbs waved McGee to the door. "Get that hand taken care of and meet us upstairs. We leave as soon as you're done."

Tony sighed as Ducky pulled out his supplies to cast his hand. "Really? What's wrong with the splint?" he protested, but his heart wasn't in it. He was too distracted by his fear for Benny.

Ducky gave him a mock-annoyed look. "Don't fight me, Anthony. You knew the splint was only temporary. This is a bad break and it is still healing. Do you really want to risk permanent damage to your dominant hand?"

His status as a field agent—dependent upon being able to shoot straight—flashed before his eyes, and he shook his head. "Sorry, Ducky," he said softly, offering his hand.

"It's all right, my dear boy," Ducky said, patting his arm and starting to form the cast.

Tony winced as Ducky straightened his fingers. He laughed, thinking of their earlier conversation about movies. "Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water." His laugh caught in his throat before starting up again, bordering on hysterical as his guilt and fear came unanchored from their self-imposed moorings. He saw Ducky looking at him with concern, and he tried to get himself under control. "I'm so scared, Ducky," he blurted, his eyes closing in shame.

"Oh, Anthony," Ducky said, still holding his wrapped hand. "It's going to be all right. You'll find him."

"Alive?" Tony asked, trying to quell his shaking enough for Ducky to be able to finish. "I honestly don't think I can handle being haunted by any more ghosts."

"Yes, Anthony, alive. You've got your team on this, and you all are the best in the business. I know you don't trust yourself. But trust Jethro. And Timothy and Ziva_. And_ yourself. You really must start believing in yourself," he said, tearing his eyes away from Tony's and looking down at their hands. He smiled. "And stop shaking. You're ruining my handiwork."

* * *

Tony left autopsy feeling stronger than he had in weeks, buoyed by the doctor's belief in him. It was as if he had shed his weakness and uncertainty and shoved its cold corpse into one of Ducky's drawers, slamming the door and locking it tightly away. _This is my job. I'm back where I belong and there is nothing that will get in my way of getting Benny back._

He looked up and almost laughed out loud. _Except maybe Abby. _

The Goth was planted firmly in his path, looking at him with a strange mixture of happiness and fear and anger. He figured the contented glimmer in her eyes was from seeing him walking the halls of the building, and without the bandages and with his suit jacket folded over the cast, he knew he looked normal again. It was the same look in her eyes that he'd seen in McGee's earlier that morning.

Unfortunately, he also knew the origins of the fear and anger. "Abby, listen," he started before she cut him off, grabbing his elbow in a death grip and dragging him into her lab. _At least she's done being gentle with me. That's got to be a step in the right direction—even if that direction is toward a slow, painful, completely _untraceable _death for incurring her formidable wrath._

"You're insane, DiNozzo," she said, glowering at the smile on his face. "Don't you dare point that smile at me. You're still hurt, still recovering from almost dying, in case you forgot. It's too dangerous for you to be chasing down crazy people. People crazier than you, I mean. I mean, you're crazy for wanting to go back out to that damned ship searching for a crazy almost-killer-guy, and Gibbs is crazy for letting you go."

"That's enough crazy to fill a whole psych ward, Abbs," Tony said, touched by her concern. "And you'd better not let the bossman hear you call him crazy."

She simply glared at him, and he put his hands on her shoulders, rolling his eyes when she turned her glare pointedly to the cast on his hand. "Abby, listen to me. Pretend I'm the brand-new Mudvayne CD and really listen, okay?"

He smiled when that got a small smile out of her. "I've already heard it," she said softly. "It's insane."

"I will be fine," he said firmly. "I've got Gibbs watching my back. Do you really think he'd let anything happen to me?"

She shook her head, but she pulled out of his grip and went to grab Bert, pulling the hippo to her chest and resting her chin on its furry, flatulent softness. "We just got you back," she said, tears welling in her mossy green eyes as she remembered the hours of sitting and waiting for him to either wake up or die. "I don't want to lose you again."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. Then he grinned. "Well, I'm going, but I'm coming back."

"All in one piece?" she asked.

"All in one piece," he promised, extending his left hand and offering her his pinkie finger.

She reached out and hesitantly linked fingers with him, and he saw her eyes widen when they landed on his scarred wrist. "Oh, shit, Tony," she breathed, and he realized it was her first time seeing the wound.

He waited for the tears, for the reaction he was starting to get sick of facing. But then he remembered McGee's kind words to him and felt immediately guilty. He watched her process the ugly sight and wasn't surprised in the least when she smiled almost shyly at him.

"If chicks dig scars," she said, only slightly hesitantly, "then you're going to be fighting them off with a stick."

He laughed, wiggling eyebrows at her suggestively. "Even more so than usual."

She grinned, taking him completely by surprise when she hugged him fiercely, even though he knew Abby hugs were like earthquakes—crushing and often coming without warning.

"Just please be careful," she whispered against his throat.

"Always, Abbs."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Tony followed Gibbs to the elevator, noting he had sent McGee and Ziva ahead of them, and Tony almost flipped the emergency-stop switch for Gibbs, knowing it was coming. The bluish lights flipped on, and Tony turned to face his boss.

"I know what you're going to say," Tony said, tugging his sleeve down over the cast and hating that Gibbs thought he needed protecting.

"Do you?" Gibbs asked, raising an eyebrow at his agent and ignoring the self-conscious fidgeting.

"Yeah, Gibbs," Tony said, leaning back against the shiny wall as casually as he could with his stomach clenched in a fist of fear for Benny. "And I promise I'll behave myself. I'll stick with you guys tighter than the Probie to his super-glued keyboard. I swear. I won't even pack the acetone."

Gibbs just stared at him, and Tony could have sworn he saw _hesitation?_ in his icy blue eyes. _No, that can't be right. Maybe I'm just out of practice at reading his many glares. I mean, they're not one-glare-fits-all. There's the shut up before I shut you up—painfully and permanently—glare. The my dog could have figured this out sooner—if one of my many ex-wives hadn't kidnapped the pooch—glare. The touch my coffee and I'll force-feed you the empty cup glare. Damn, where's my copy of Gibbs' Glares for Dummies? Probably next to the well-worn, creepily illustrated copy of Abby's Lab for Dummies. _

Gibbs watched Tony and hated himself for what he was about to do. He knew DiNozzo had no idea what he was about to say—because Tony hadn't even considered the possibility, Gibbs was sure. He almost kept his uneasiness to himself, but he knew it wouldn't help anything in the long run if he happened to be right. He hoped, for once, that his gut was dead wrong.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said, keeping his bark to a minimum in the small confines of the elevator. "When I said they couldn't find North or Benny, you jumped to one conclusion. And I don't blame you. You're probably right."

Tony's brain was struggling to keep up with his suddenly swirling thoughts. He blinked as he realized what Gibbs was saying—without saying it, as usual. "Gibbs, no," he said, knowing the words sounded slightly choked. He took a calming breath as Gibbs watched him think.

"No way, Gibbs," Tony said, sounding calmer.

Gibbs' gaze turned slippery with guilt and it slid away for a second before returning to Tony's disbelieving eyes. "Look, DiNozzo. I don't think so either. But I had my doubts, especially since he knew about your nightmares."

Tony shook his head. "No, Gibbs," he repeated. "Benny didn't have anything to do with this. He's my friend. He likes me."

Tony suddenly heard voices from his childhood:

_"No, father. They're my friends. They really like me."_

_"They like your money, boy. That's all there is to it."_

"I know, Tony," Gibbs said, seeing the haunted pain in his green eyes. "I could tell that from your video conference with him. But you should know better than anyone that it's not impossible to fake feelings like that."

Tony flinched, but he recovered quickly, shoving Jeanne's pretty face back into the closet with all of his other skeletons. "That's your proof, Gibbs?" He shook his head, not waiting for an answer. "Come on, Gibbs, we both know that's not good enough for you."

Gibbs frowned, debating how much to dump on his still-recovering agent. "You said it yourself, DiNozzo," he said quietly, hating himself for putting Tony through this when he knew it could be for nothing. "You never hung out on Thursday nights. He shouldn't have been there the night they attacked you."

Tony's eyes widened as he struggled to remember that night. He pulled his damaged wrists to his chest as the sensations of knives and pain and terror assaulted him. He closed his eyes and saw only blood.

_Shit,_ Gibbs thought, watching Tony tuck shaking hands under his chin, the casted right one crossed over his left as if protecting it. Gibbs reached out only to have Tony jerk back from the gentle contact.

"Don't_ touch_ me," he gasped, backing away, feeling warm blood pumping from closed wounds and seeing its awful bright redness overtaking everything real in his vision. Rational thought screamed from somewhere at the bottom of his well of panic. He closed his eyes again to block Gibbs' terrifying concern and to concentrate on whatever was playing hide-and-seek in his fevered brain.

_That's not right, DiNozzo. Think. Remember. You never saw the blood. _

Gibbs watched Tony open wild eyes and finally focus on his face, watched his breathing even out as he returned to the safety of the present.

"He came back to check on me," Tony said, the memories of knives rupturing his wrists turning into fragments of the dream in which Gibbs had stabbed him. He tried to think of a way to explain that night's events without sounding pathetic and ended up telling Gibbs the truth about his nightmare and the subsequent trip to the head to throw up.

Gibbs listened to Tony speak shaky words and he wanted to reassure him in some way, but all he could think about was the dream. _I could never hurt you, Tony, never. I hope you know that. _

"I popped the stitches in my mouth—from the fight," Tony was saying. "I was bleeding, and Benny thought I was dying or something. _That's _why he came back that night. To make sure I was all right."

Gibbs nodded, thinking about what McGee had told him about Benny's whereabouts that night. The cook had been seen using a computer in a common area to send several emails, McGee's inquiries had uncovered. _But eyewitnesses can be wrong, computer logs can be faked. _

Gibbs decided not to voice those particular concerns, considering Tony's agitated state. He had accomplished his mission of getting Tony to at least consider the possibility—perhaps too well, he thought, watching Tony calm himself with several deep breaths. He waited until Tony had lowered his arms to his sides before saying, "You're probably right about him. I just wanted you to be prepared."

He watched Tony nod. "Got you, Boss."

Gibbs hit the emergency switch, wondering if anyone was going to be waiting impatiently when the doors finally opened—and if he was making a mistake in letting DiNozzo go back to the ship with them. He had every intention of keeping the agent glued to his side until North was found and in custody, but he also had to consider the other risks of Tony returning so soon after the attacks. He eyed DiNozzo's pale face and reminded himself that less than two weeks ago, the man had been lying unconscious and near death from shock and massive blood loss.

They stepped from the elevator unaccosted, and Tony surprised him by turning to him and saying, "I'm good to go, Boss." His green eyes were calm again, and Gibbs believed him when he said, "I'm going to be fine."

Gibbs nodded. "Then let's go catch some dirtbags."


	47. Chapter 47

"This reminds me of something," Tony said later that night as he, McGee and Ziva picked their way up and down the long corridors of the ship.

It was funny how they had unconsciously divided up the task of searching the hundreds of compartments: Tony had a massive ring of keys for the manual locks, his eagle eyes easily matching the tiny numbers on them to those painted on the walls; McGee took the electronic locks, deftly typing codes in a flurry of fingers; and Ziva simply shouldered open the stubborn ones—or bullied her way in when their occupants were equally resistant. Fortunately, most of these rooms were unoccupied—otherwise, they might have a trail of bodies to explain.

"A movie?" McGee asked. "Is this your first official 'I'm back' movie reference? I'm honored to be in attendance. Should have worn a tux, even."

Tony smiled, but he was shaking his head. "Nah, not a movie."

"A TV show?" Ziva asked, slamming open a door sticky with the humidity here in the bowels of the massive ship hard enough to make Tony wince and check the smooth surface for an Israeli-shaped dent.

He shook his head again. "Nah. Anyone care to try again? Double or nothing?"

"We are not betting, Tony. I learned long ago that you never pay up," Ziva said with a smile, watching him slide a key left-handed into a door with easy dexterity, and she was suddenly reminded of their long-ago conversation in that shipping container about his piano-playing. Maybe when this was all over, she would ask him to play for her—or order him to, which would be infinitely more fun. Another memory swam to the surface, though, and she said, "The _Chimera_."

Tony smiled at her, the expression as easy as his left-handed grace. "But minus the dead rat. Score one for the ninja-chick."

Ziva mock-glared at him, feeling a little shiver run down her back at the memory of the eerie experience on that ship. But she forced it away. If Tony could stow away his reservations about coming back to this ship, she could certainly stuff down her own silly fears.

"Okay, okay," Tony said, stepping into the compartment. He called out, "You get two points because you could break me in half with one hand tied behind your back."

He stepped out of the empty room to find her looking at him with a sweetly deadly smile. "With both hands tied."

He grinned at her. "Bet that's something they never taught you in the Girl Scouts."

"I was never a Girl Scout," Ziva said. "A, I would never purposely label myself a 'Brownie,' and B, I would never have been able to stand the uniform."

Tony eyed her casual clothes, which matched his own—his "agent afloat uniform," he'd said earlier when McGee made a crack about him being afraid to get a ridiculously expensive suit waterlogged. He tugged his long-sleeved black shirt down over his scarred left wrist and felt a flash of unease at its ugly reminder. He shrugged it off, feeling the reassuring weight of his gun at his left hip. And the one strapped to his ankle, and the multiple knives he'd stashed on his body—his only concessions to the nervousness he felt at returning to the ship. He remembered how easy it had been to walk across the flight deck again when they first arrived, and he knew it was immeasurably less difficult this time because he had been ensconced in the hard cocoon of his well-armed team.

"And 3, there's no merit badge for maiming," Tony said. "So why bother?"

"I might have joined then, if there was," Ziva said, stepping from yet another empty compartment. "And maybe for the cookies. I am a lollipop for chocolaty mint."

"Sucker, Ziva. You're a sucker," he corrected, then felt the grin drop dead on his face. "Not that I am actually calling you a sucker. Because I know better. You'd kill me. Deader than disco, I'm sure."

She smiled that lethal smile at him again.

He cocked his head to the side and said thoughtfully, "But I'm going to keep the cookie thing in mind. I didn't think there was _any_ way to defuse you."

She shook her head. "You cannot keep emergency Thin Mints on you at all times, Tony. They would melt."

"Are you calling me hot?" he asked suggestively.

She whacked his shoulder, and he got the distinct feeling she had pulled her punch—and he was glad. Field agents needed two working arms to function properly, after all.

Tony turned to McGee, who was staring at an electronic lock as if it held the keys to the universe. "It's not an actual probie, Probie," Tony said, leaning casually beside McGee's hunched-over form. "You can't stare it into submission."

McGee stabbed a button and the door clicked open softly. He cleared the room quickly and returned to the hallway, watching Tony cover a yawn and wondering if they should make him call it quits for the night. It was almost midnight, and they had been walking these corridors for hours. He wondered what Gibbs would do. "Speaking of staring things into submission," McGee said. "Where's Gibbs?"

Just as he spoke, the radio squawked and Gibbs ordered them back to Stick's office.

The three agents just looked at each other silently for a moment before McGee asked, "How does he _do _that?"

"No idea," Tony said, lifting a shoulder. "But it's definitely creepy."

Ziva nodded her agreement. "Creepier than the _Chimera._"

* * *

Tony followed them back to the office, feeling his exhaustion weighing down his every step. He smiled, though, thinking about the easy camaraderie he had fallen back into with his team. And the way they were flanking him, McGee following him just slightly off to his left and Ziva leading the way, her ninja radar probably on full alert. It made him think of the long nights he had spent roaming these very halls alone, thinking about the team and wondering if he would ever be with them again. It was almost painfully good to know he didn't have that fear nagging at him anymore.

The smile slid from his face, though, when he realized that he had almost forgotten what their mission here was. They were looking for Benny. And while they often joked and laughed with gallows humor during investigations—because the other options mostly included small white rooms with padded walls—he was dismayed to realize he had forgotten that this time, they were searching for someone he cared about, someone he had laughed with, someone who cared about _him_.

_You had better be okay, Benny_, Tony thought. _If not, I'll kick your ass all the way back to 'Nawlins._

They filed into the office only to have Gibbs send Ziva and McGee back to their task. Tony blushed bright red when he realized what Gibbs had done, calling them all back so Tony wouldn't protest being escorted by his protection detail.

Gibbs watched Tony's face as he recognized the ruse, and the lead agent felt a glimmer of unease. Tony looked beyond tired, and Gibbs made a mental note to "remind" McGee and Ziva that protection detail was not only about keeping the target safe from killers and crazies, but also about protecting Tony from his own stubborn self. But Gibbs could hardly blame him for pushing himself. They were searching for his friend, someone he felt responsible for, and that was the reason Gibbs had even allowed the still-recovering agent to come along. That and he had complete faith in his team to keep him safe.

"Sleep, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered, watching Tony sink onto the cot and thinking he wasn't going to get much more than a token resistance.

"Is it really that easy for you to just turn off?" Tony asked softly, his thoughts still on Benny. He fought the ridiculous urge to call in some dogs and have them follow the scent of gumbo.

Gibbs nodded. "Yep."

Tony smiled faintly, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. "So you're saying all I need is a boat and a bottle of bourbon?"

Gibbs grinned even though he saw Tony's eyes close. "Something like that."

"Well, I've got the boat," Tony murmured.

"But they confiscated your bottle," Gibbs returned. "Go to sleep."

Tony didn't respond. He was already out. Gibbs felt a flicker of emotion that Tony trusted him enough to drop off so easily, that even though his net had been cruelly yanked from him at age eight, he felt safe enough with Gibbs to finally let his guard down—and in so many ways. _Either that, _Gibbs thought, _or he's just really tired. _

Gibbs watched Tony's even breathing for a minute before turning back to the schematics of the ship, trying to think where he would hide a hostage—or a body. He had tried to make Tony stay with him while McGee and Ziva searched just in case all they found was a corpse, but DiNozzo was having none of it, his determination shouldering the exhaustion and fear from his eyes. And Gibbs had given in, not wanting Tony to waste his energy fighting when he could be searching. They needed all the eyes they could get to search the huge ship, and Gibbs had spent most of the night coordinating foot patrols among the masters-at-arms aboard.

Thinking about the MA currently locked up tight in the ship's brig made Gibbs suddenly see red wash over the blue diagram of the ship. He wanted nothing more than to go down there and slowly take apart the men who had hurt his agent. Gibbs' eyes flicked to the cast on Tony's right hand, resting softly on his belly as he slept, and Gibbs wanted to go break some bones himself. He sighed, knowing he wouldn't. Mostly because he didn't want to leave DiNozzo alone with North still likely aboard the ship. He had meant what he said about keeping Tony glued to his side, and Gibbs knew he would protect Tony with his life, if it came to that.

That thought made him stop and wonder what it was about Tony that made him feel so fiercely protective. It wasn't that he wouldn't do the same for the rest of his team: He knew he would go down fighting for any of them. But for some reason, he had always felt a special connection with Tony that he couldn't quite explain. Maybe it was the fact that Tony lacked anything even remotely resembling a paternal relationship—a fact that Gibbs _knew_ even before he had ever known the details—and that Gibbs knew what it felt like to lose a family, by choice or otherwise.

Whatever it was, it was making Gibbs want to go down to the brig and vent his rage on Lowe and Willis for having ever laid a hand on Tony, for making him suffer, for wounding him so deeply.

But Gibbs also had a very strong sense of justice and knew he couldn't deliver the punishment his fists ached to inflict. He knew he couldn't give in to the almost satisfying images of beating them senseless in primal retaliation, matching blood for senselessly, violently spilled blood.

His team—the broken pieces so recently glued back together—simply needed him too much.

* * *

_He was walking toward the fantail again. _

_There was a body lying in a crumpled heap near the edge, and even though he was far from its unmoving form and the night air was cool and blankly crisp as a dead leaf in fall, he could still smell the decay. He knew instinctively that the body was Benny's, and he began to shake as he approached his ruined friend. _

_Looking down at Benny's face, dark as the night sky, he felt a scream rise in his choked throat. The side of the man's head was caved in, the gelatinous eyeball hanging like a grotesque ornament from pinkish nerve bundles that would never again transmit images to the pulpy, smashed brain spilling from the broken bowl of his skull. _

_He tried to breathe through the pain suddenly tearing him in half, feeling as if his lungs were being ripped from his chest with each ragged gulp of star-filled night. He raised deadened green eyes to the glittering sky and howled with fury and agony and despair. _

_As if called out of nightmares of their own by his anguished wailing, the legions of the lost awakened and crawled from their hidden graves across the deck of the ship, their rasping, grating cries joining his in a discordant symphony of terror._

_He turned to face them, finding their dripping horror somehow less frightening than Benny's gory gushing, and he was shocked to see Gibbs staggering brokenly among his hellish new comrades. _

_His throat closed completely as grief stole his breath—his very ability to breathe, ever again. The elephantine weight of guilt-soaked sorrow settled onto his chest and drove spiky roots into his bleeding soul, obviously intent on taking up permanent residence there. _

_"No," he cried, his mouth moving but no air passing over his strangled vocal cords. He knew without a doubt that he would never speak again. The mute month he had spent unspeaking after his mother's death would fade into infinitesimal nothingness in comparison with the forever he would spend suffering, his cold silence a cheap imitation of Gibbs' rotting death. _

_He tried to call out to his mentor as his friend passed by in floating speechless stillness, but it was as if his razor-sharp grief had severed those paralyzed cords in his clogged throat. His face was a mold for agony, ready to be pain-poured and left to set for all eternity, as he struggled to get Gibbs' attention, banished to absentia by uncompromising death._

_The ghost-man brushed by him, leaving a streak of bloody gore on his outstretched fingertips as he reached desperately for the only solid thing in his life—only to find that his anchor had been reduced to wispy ephemeral fog fading out toward the horizon. _

_He put his head in his undamaged hands and wept, the pain of his rejection worse than any of that from the remembered injuries. He knew in that moment that he would rather have had the man pull his ever-present knife and open the veins in those shaky, tear-trailed wrists than watch him simply walk away. He didn't know what was worse: that the man was staggering off toward endless lifelessness or that he was going so willing to that forever fate, without so much as a backward glance at the wrecked pseudo-son he was leaving behind. _

_He sank to his knees, feeling drained as his mother's blood-filled bathtub, and he watched Gibbs commit a final, cruel insult by stopping at Benny's broken body, leaning down and whispering into his torn ear. Gibbs simply turned and watched as the cook's giant body rose from the blood-stained deck. Gibbs put his knife into the young man's hand and lifted his own, the decaying finger pointed straight at Tony's grief-stilled heart. _

_He tried to rise, to run from the spectral, unseeing thing approaching him with the patience of cold death. He fell backward, landing first on his heels and then flat on his back, the icy smooth metal of the deck rising up to meet him with a steely slap. _

_Benny pocketed the knife and smiled down at him, reaching for his hands with a grin that would have eased his terror had half of the cook's face not been sagging in smiling rot. He felt big hands close around his wrists, and he was suddenly on his feet, wild eyes flicking between Gibbs and Benny so rapidly their faces became one in his tremulous vision. Gore overlapped rot and their dreadful combination erased any trace of smiles, or trust, or friendship, or life. _

_The thing pulled the knife from its pocket and placed its familiar, finely honed blade against his left wrist. He tried to scream, to move, to fight, but he found he had nothing left to give. He met the thing's icy, soulful blue-brown eyes as it ripped him open and looked down to watch him bleed. _

_The task was repeated on his right wrist with brutal emotionless efficiency, and the thing finally released him, letting him drop dead as a stone to the red, red deck. _


	48. Chapter 48

Tony's eyes snapped open, and he took a moment to remember where he was. He felt Gibbs' steady gaze on him, but he didn't turn his head.

He was terrified of finding the ghost from his dream holding silent vigil over his sleep-confused body.

"Bad one?" Gibbs asked, his tone carefully even.

Tony closed his eyes again, but they flew open as half-remembered images of the nightmare assailed his senses. He would have sworn he could smell the rot. He turned, suddenly needing to see Gibbs—whole and unbroken—and Tony fought the silly urge to take the man's pulse to reassure himself that his boss was still alive.

He found Gibbs watching him with concern and knew, as much from the look as from his sore throat, that he had been screaming again. _When is this nightmare going to end?_

"Tony?"

His cheeks burned as he realized he hadn't answered, that he had simply been staring blankly at his boss. "I, uh," he said, then cleared his throat with a wince. "Yeah," he admitted softly and watched Gibbs nod.

Gibbs frowned and looked as pensive as Tony had ever seen him.

"What?" he asked, thoroughly unnerved by that unfamiliar look.

"Should I wake you?" Gibbs asked, the words coming out in a slight rush. "When you're … dreaming?"

Tony silently thanked him for checking himself and not saying "screaming." He lifted a shoulder. "Couldn't hurt, I guess." _At least maybe my throat wouldn't feel like I've been gargling with rusty nails. _

Gibbs nodded slowly, mulling that over. "Are you okay?"

Tony blinked, wondering how those three concerned little words could unsettle him so badly—and if it had always been that way. He realized it always had been, and for some reason, that knowledge made him feel better. "Yeah," he said, biting down an "I'm fine" and sitting up. He went to rub his eyes and managed to stop just before smacking himself in the face with the cast he had forgotten about. "What time is it?"

Gibbs didn't speak, and Tony was suddenly terrified his boss wasn't going to accept his answer at face value, that he had somehow heard the unspoken "Okay? No, but I finally understand the term 'shaking on the inside.' "

But Gibbs just shook his head slightly, checked his watch and said, "Almost 0300." He stopped himself from adding, "Go back to sleep" because he didn't think that was the greatest idea even if Tony looked exhausted. He could still hear the younger man's agonized wailing echoing in his head, and it made him wonder what hellish images had been—and probably still were—bouncing around in Tony's head. But he forced that away so he could concentrate on the present.

"What do we do now?" Tony asked, knowing Gibbs would have told him if McGee and Ziva or anyone else had found something—had found Benny.

Gibbs looked back at the schematics of the ship, the piles of his handwritten notes on the reports he had been receiving all night. He stuffed down his frustration at not being able to be out there searching, but he knew his job here with Tony was infinitely more important. He had thought earlier about having McGee or Ziva guard the agent, but he didn't want to do that to Tony. And he was glad in the wake of the nightmare that he had stayed—even if Gibbs had no idea how to offer comfort without scaring or embarrassing Tony. But he did know Tony would have been even more embarrassed at having come awake to find one of them watching him.

"Let them keep searching," Gibbs said, not liking his answer and knowing DiNozzo wouldn't, either. He headed off the protest before it even started. "No, DiNozzo. We are not going to join the search."

"But Gibbs, I—"

"Almost died?" Gibbs supplied before Tony could finish. He watched his agent's eyes flick to the floor, almost if searching for the bloodstains that weren't there. Gibbs thanked whoever had removed the carpet, realizing too that Tony hadn't even reacted to returning to this room—and realizing how much that troubled him. First because he should have thought about how Tony would feel coming back to this place where he had nearly bled out on the floor, and second because Tony should have had some sort of reaction, any sort of reaction.

Tony cocked his head to the side slightly and watched Gibbs' face closely when he said, "You're regretting letting me come."

Gibb forced his expression into a blankness Tony would have been proud of and said, "No. You wanted to be here."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you care about what I want?" He winced. "Uh, sorry. That came out wrong."

"DiNozzo—"

"No, really, Gibbs," Tony said, rubbing his left hand over his face, remembering this time to keep the cast resting in his lap. _I'm way too tired for this. _"I mean in relation to cases. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Gibbs said simply. "It's got to be hard coming back here," he said quietly, studying Tony's reaction and half-expecting the one he got.

Tony pulled his hands against his belly, his left hand cradling his right wrist, right holding left as he always did when he was in pain—physical or otherwise. But Tony's eyes never left Gibbs' face. "Not really," he said honestly. "I spent a lot of time in my mother's music room after she died so I guess it's not surprising that I don't mind being here."

Tony kicked himself, wondering why his thoughts always turned to his mother. He had laid his memories of her to rest long ago. He knew the answer, though, and he suddenly wished the bastards had shot him, poisoned him, beat him senseless and tossed him overboard—anything but inflicting wounds that had resurrected those brutal memories of her.

Tony noticed Gibbs wasn't talking, just studying—and that was rarely a good thing. So Tony said, "It's like being there—or here—is a reminder that life goes on."

Gibbs weighed that carefully, trying to see the meaning behind the seemingly meaningful words and wondering if Tony had actually answered him honestly. But he couldn't help himself. "And it's a good way to torture yourself," he said softly.

Tony flinched. He marveled at Gibbs' perception, his ability to see straight through Tony's bullshit—even when it was well-crafted bullshit cobbled out of half-truths and well-faked sincerity. Because, well, that really _was_ the best kind of bullshit, right? _Rule No. 7: Always be specific when you lie. _

Tony's eyes flicked a bit wildly around the room, the ease with which Gibbs had dismantled his defenses making him feel raw and open and exposed. His eyes landed on the floor and he suddenly felt his attackers' hands on him again, their blades—

"Whoa, Gibbs," Tony said, forcing his thoughts back to the present. "That was interesting hard left into Awkwardville. I may not like your driving style—mostly because it has been known, on occasion, to make me set records for throwing up, both in volume and distance—but I guess you can't argue with results. I mean, you wouldn't be half as good at your job if you couldn't steer a conversation like a '67 Challenger, but I've got to tell ya, it's a little unnerving for you to be behind the wheel of my Dodge."

Gibbs rolled his eyes, about to speak when there was a knock at the door. He saw Tony's entire body go tense, but Gibbs couldn't figure if it was fear of someone bringing bad news or just plain nerves. Gibbs stood, and Tony didn't miss that his boss placed his body between Tony and the door as he barked, "What?"

"It's Captain Fordham, Agent Gibbs. I need to speak with you."

Gibbs opened the door and let the man in before locking it again. Gibbs just waited, staring at the man expectantly and hoping he would get on with whatever he needed. The lead agent saw Tony's slight frown and wanted to let him get back to sleep. He certainly looked like he needed it.

The captain's eyes flicked from Gibbs to Tony and back again. He gave Gibbs a meaningful look. "May I speak with you outside for a moment?"

Tony jumped to his feet only to sway drunkenly as a wave of dizziness swept over him. Gibbs turned, putting both hands on his agent's shoulders and focusing his laser-blue gaze into slightly _un_focused green eyes. "Sit, DiNozzo," he said softly, wishing the captain had enough sense to stop staring with such open curiosity at them. He pushed Tony down but left his hands on the agent's trembling shoulders. "Stay here. Do not get up. Do not open that door for anyone but me. Got it?"

Tony nodded slowly, trying to fight the dizziness and sudden nausea rolling greasily through his stomach. _All this from just standing up? That can't be right…_

Gibbs kept the gentle pressure on his shoulders for a moment as if waiting for his words to set and glue the agent to his seat. His eyes narrowed slightly and Tony nodded again.

Gibbs straightened and followed the captain out into the deserted hall. Gibbs eyed the man, suddenly thinking about how he had been complicit in getting Ziva away from the office so it could be searched. But Fordham had been under orders from the director of NCIS, and just because Gibbs had no problem folding those directives into paper airplanes with impressively long ranges didn't mean everyone else felt the same way.

Gibbs took in the slight burn in the man's eyes and wondered what had happened—and why he hadn't been the first to hear about it.

"There's about to be a ship-wide announcement for all personnel to stay put, remain in their bunks or work stations, and clear the corridors," Fordham said, and as if on cue, the PA system blared overhead.

Gibbs waited for the announcement to end, impatient for Fordham to tell him what he already knew. The PA stopped squawking and Gibbs asked, "Which one did you find?"

The captain blinked as if surprised by Gibbs' deduction. "North," he said carefully, watching Gibbs' face. "But there's a problem."

_Isn't there always? _Gibbs thought. He smiled a predatory little smile. _But not for long. As soon as I get my hands on that son of a bitch…_

Fordham continued. "He's down in the hold, holed up in a shipping container with Benny Lyman as a hostage."

"So round up some MAs, I'll get my people, and we'll go take him out," Gibbs said simply, as if formulating breakfast plans. He mostly wished Fordham would keep his damned voice down.

"I've already got an MA down there," the captain said. "But the problem is he's threatening to put a bullet through Lyman's head if anyone besides Agent DiNozzo comes anywhere near the container."

Gibbs was already shaking his head, seeing Tony swaying dizzily, his tired, haunted eyes. "No way," Gibbs said, keeping his voice low. "He's in no condition to go negotiate with the man who tried to kill him. And damned near succeeded. He's not going anywhere."

Fordham glanced down the corridor impatiently. "Agent Gibbs," he said sternly. "I don't take orders from you. This is a situation on _my_ ship—"

"And he's _my_ agent," Gibbs ground through clenched teeth. "He damn near died on _your _ship, and he's too weak to handle North. And I'm not about to put him through this if it ends badly. He's suffered enough without having Lyman's death on his conscience."

Fordham smiled, but there was something cold and calculating in his eyes. "Don't you think he'll feel worse if you don't give him a chance to help Benny? Are you forgetting that he was under my authority on this ship for months? I know Tony, and I know he'll feel guilty either way. Don't you think it's better to give him a chance to make things right?"

Gibbs bristled at the captain's cozy tone. _You don't know shit about my agent. _"Hostage situations are unpredictable," he said, not bothering to keep the venom from his voice. He saw Fordham's eyes widen. "There's nothing he can do that I can't. And he's certainly in no shape to do it, if it even mattered. North is crazy. He'll do what he's going to do no matter who's there, and I'm not giving him another shot at killing my agent. You stay here. I'm going to talk to him and get my people back here to stay with him."

Gibbs turned on his heel and pushed the door open. He felt Fordham behind him and turned on the man who swept into the small room. Gibbs started to pull his gun when he saw Fordham with one already in his hand, the barrel inches from Tony's sleeping face.

Gibbs felt cold rage wash over him even before Fordham opened his mouth.

"Take your weapon and slowly place it on the ground," the captain directed calmly.

Gibbs didn't move.

Fordham used the barrel of the gun to brush a lock of hair that had fallen across Tony's forehead, the soft gesture wholly at odds with the deadly weapon. "You will do as I say, Agent Gibbs," he said, smiling a reptilian smile, his eyes just as cold, "unless you want me to grant your wish and let him sleep. Forever."


	49. Chapter 49

Gibbs stood dead still, weighing his options. _As if you have any options. Not with him holding that gun so steadily against Tony's forehead. _Gibbs suddenly wished for a nightmare. Tony's shrieking was enough to unsettle anyone—and it would provide a perfect distraction.

But Tony simply slept, completely unaware of the danger he was in.

Gibbs put his gun on the floor and looked back up at Fordham, noting the man wasn't even the least bit nervous. _Is he on something? Is he part of the drug scam? _

"Your cell phone and knives, too," Fordham said, gesturing with his free hand to the blades at Gibbs' waist and ankle.

Gibbs removed the phone and knives, and placed them next to his gun, wishing he had bothered to strap on a third. He hadn't, simply because he wasn't expecting to run into trouble while watching Tony sleep. _Only you, DiNozzo_, he thought fondly, even as fear nagged away at the back of his mind like his third ex-wife.

"So what's the plan?" Gibbs asked mildly, holding his hands up in submission. "You would have shot us by now if that was your intention."

"Can't," Fordham said. "I need you two."

Gibbs waited for him to continue, but the captain simply pushed the gun harder against Tony's head and barked the agent's name. Gibbs felt his fury shoot through the roof as DiNozzo came awake in a second, his eyes wide and panicked as he registered the gun in his face. "What the _fuck?_"

"Shut up," Fordham hissed, jabbing the barrel into Tony's cheek hard enough to make him flinch.

Gibbs almost wished the captain would draw back and hit him with it—at least it would give Gibbs a chance to tackle him. But Gibbs couldn't move. Not with the gun barrel never leaving Tony's shocked face. He saw DiNozzo's mouth open and then clamp shut, his eyes sliding to meet Gibbs'.

_I'm so sorry, Tony. Just hang in there. I'll get us out of this. _

_I'll get _you_ out of this. _

Gibbs blinked as DiNozzo's eyes hardened, as if he had read his thoughts.

But DiNozzo just looked back up at the captain. "Wow, probably should have seen this coming," he said calmly. Gibbs was amazed at the transformation. His agent had gone from blinking sleep from terror-filled eyes to smooth and glib in a few racing heartbeats. "You knew about my nightmares. Hell, I flat out _told _you about them, _el capitan. _I should have recognized your voice. The authority in it when you ordered them to hold me down. Right in this very room. You know, I'm thinking of a movie right now, but the title escapes me. Can't imagine why I'm not exactly thinking straight. But I'll give you the plot. It's one where—"

Fordham cut him off with a swift backhand, his knuckles connecting with DiNozzo's mouth with a sharp _smack. _Gibbs was watching, waiting, but he didn't move since the gun never wavered from Tony's head.

"I said shut up," Fordham hissed.

DiNozzo just smiled, showing off the blood on his teeth. " 'Thank you sir may I have another'?" he said, his words short and staccato as gunfire. "That one's 'Animal House,' in case anyone's keeping score."

Fordham looked as if he wanted to oblige him, but he didn't. "Get up," he said coldly.

DiNozzo didn't move except to slowly stretch his arms up and tuck his hands under his head in one long, lazy movement unhindered by the bulky cast. "And if I refuse?" he asked, still smiling but with a new, shiny-sharp edge to his tone.

Fordham's free hand disappeared into his pocket and returned quickly, the crisp snap of the switchblade popping open an inch from Tony's face. DiNozzo stifled a gasp—and the screaming in his head—and simply kept smiling. His voice never wavered. "Is that supposed to be scarier than the gun? Because if I had to choose a way to kill someone, I'd go with the bullet. Simpler, usually neater. Depending on the blowback, though, 'cause that can get messy. Blood and brain tend to fly and I'd hate for you to ruin that nice captain's uniform for little ol' me."

"Shut. Up." Fordham looked shocked at the lack of fear in Tony's voice. Hell, Gibbs was even a little surprised that DiNozzo managed to sound so calm with his eyes glued to that blade.

"I thought you wanted me to get up?" Tony asked casually. "Which is it?"

Gibbs could see Fordham's hand start to shake, and he silently told DiNozzo to can it. He'd made his point. Gibbs' heart clenched tighter as Fordham moved the blade to rest against Tony's left wrist, still tucked under his head, the scarred skin presenting vulnerable veins to his tormentor. Gibbs watched Tony's eyes shut for a moment, watched his breathing still, and knew the agent was waging a fierce battle against what had to be nearly overwhelming panic.

But Tony's eyes opened and his breathing resumed with a soft snort. "Hey," he said, his voice as steady as light summer rain. "Maybe you'll even get it right this time."

Fordham growled out his rage and stabbed the knife into the mattress mere inches from DiNozzo's head. He pressed the gun into Tony's cheek and shook his head. "I knew you were good, DiNozzo. But this," he said, laughing appreciatively. "Well, I guess Hannah and North were right in saying we shouldn't underestimate you. But I knew that when I saw you after your little run-in with Henry Stowell, and you shrugged it off like it was nothing. I was impressed."

"And I'm flattered," Tony said flatly. "Why didn't you just toss me? Get a new agent assigned? The decision was up to you."

Fordham rolled his eyes. "I would have, if Lowe hadn't been an idiot and covered up your broken hand to spite you. I couldn't take the chance that you'd have it looked at on dry land and figure out what he'd done—and start wondering why."

Tony felt the throbbing in his hand flare—along with his anger. "Yeah, and questioning his diagnosis and sending me on my merry way was so much less fun than faking my suicide. Thanks for that. Who came up with that, by the way? Was that you? Maybe you're smarter than you look?"

Fordham glared. "I know what you're doing, Agent DiNozzo. This isn't some B-list movie, and you're not getting a big, long confession out of me to waste time until backup arrives."

Tony snorted. "B-list? They'd have to dig way down to the D-list to cast your ugly mug."

Fordham looked like his head was about to explode, and DiNozzo caught Gibbs' warning glare. "Okay, okay. C-list, but only because you didn't actually shove that knife through my pretty face. What can I say? I'm feeling generous."

"Enough," the captain barked. "Get up and shut up before I kill you."

Tony's eyes flicked to Gibbs' as he stood unsteadily, watching Gibbs watch and feeling the gun sliding over his body, never leaving contact as it moved from his head to settle against the middle of his back. _Sorry Boss_, he mouthed, feeling blood drip from the corner of his bruised mouth. Gibbs just gave a tiny shake of his head and a half-power glare. _Not your fault. _

"You first," Fordham said, nodding at Gibbs. "You will walk down the corridor in front of us. You will go where I tell you to. You will not open your mouth, and you will not try anything. Or I'll put a round through his spine. And then I'll put this gun to your back and take you with me, leaving him to slowly bleed out. And there will be no help coming this time. I made sure we'd have these halls to ourselves when I had them make that announcement."

Gibbs walked, his pace deliberately slow as he hoped some unruly sailor would ignore the orders to stay put. He knew that was pretty much their only hope until they reached their destination. He wasn't so stupid as to think he could do anything but obey the captain's orders. He couldn't even see the man, but he knew he was keeping his promise and had the gun pressed against Tony's back as they walked. Anything Gibbs did would practically ensure Fordham's pulling the trigger, and Gibbs figured DiNozzo could do without holes in his spine.

Gibbs just hoped DiNozzo wouldn't end up bleeding anyway because he decided to do something stupid in an attempt to save his boss.

_Bleeding more, that is_, Gibbs thought as he followed the captain's directions, winding ever lower into the bowels of the ship. Gibbs had almost lost it as soon as Fordham's hand had connected with Tony's face, but the gun trained on his agent's head had kept him rooted to the floor. Gibbs had spent the entire exchange hoping the captain would turn the gun on him.

Gibbs' thoughts turned to McGee and Ziva, and he hoped they would try to contact him, or come back to the office. Gibbs knew Fordham had made a mistake in leaving Gibbs' phone and weapons on the floor, but his heart sank when he realized it might not matter because the agents wouldn't know where to find them. If he had been able to turn, though, he would have seen Tony discreetly and silently spitting blood from his damaged mouth to the floor in as regular intervals as he could. The agent was sucking at the injury, gnawing and biting his lip to keep the blood flowing.

"Stop," Fordham commanded. "Knock slowly three times and open the door."

Gibbs did as he was told, bristling all the while. He really hated taking orders—especially from people threatening to kill his agents.

They filed into the room, and Tony almost fell over from shock and relief—and maybe exhaustion, too—at the sight of Benny sitting in the corner of the cavernous room full of shipping containers. Tony checked the cook over for injuries and almost sighed in relief at finding none. He winced, though, at the rage in Benny's eyes as the young man began struggling fiercely against the restraints binding him to an exposed pipe.

Benny took in Tony's pale, bloody face and jerked against the zip ties holding him back. He yelled at Fordham, his voice booming in the huge room, "You son of a bitch! You lay another hand on him, and I'll kill you myself."

Tony couldn't help himself. He grinned even as Fordham jammed the gun harder into his back. "Missed you too, Benny."

"Shut up," Fordham barked. "All of you."

Bubba North approached from Gibbs' right and moved to stand behind him, placing his gun against the back of the agent's skull.

Gibbs met DiNozzo's eyes for a second before Tony said, "Okay, well this could be fun. What do we do now? Turn out the lights and tell ghost stories? I can start. I was on this ship once called the _Chimera _and—"

Sneaking a glance at his newly acquired backup, Fordham suddenly gave in to his rage. He grabbed DiNozzo roughly by the throat, choking off his words and slamming him against the wall. The weakened agent's knees buckled and he slumped to the floor, landing on his right side with a soft thump. Fordham drew back and kicked him hard in the side, making Tony grunt and curl his knees up to his chest even as he fought to breathe through the stinging pain.

"I've had enough of your goddamned mouth," Fordham roared, kicking DiNozzo again, this time in the face, knocking him out cold.

Gibbs stood seething, feeling the cold steel against his neck and wondering if Fordham even knew how little time he had left to live.

"Knock it off, Andrew," North said from behind Gibbs. "You'll ruin everything if you continue kicking the shit out of him."

"He just never shuts up," Fordham said, looking down disdainfully at DiNozzo's slack, bleeding face.

"Tell me about it," Gibbs said, watching Benny's eyes widen and wondering if it was from his words or the dark blood oozing thickly from Tony's nose. "But he's got a point. You've got us all here. What's your brilliant plan?" _And how does beating my agent unconscious "ruin" it?_

Fordham snuck a glance at North that made Gibbs wonder who the mastermind behind all this was. Gibbs couldn't see North, but Fordham nodded and said, "Now we invite some more friends to the party."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed as Fordham pulled a radio and pressed the call button. "Lowe? Willis? Bring Agent McGee and David down here now."


	50. Chapter 50

**Earlier**

"This is so…"

"Boring?" McGee offered, following Ziva into yet another empty compartment.

"There has to be a better word for it," Ziva complained, clearing the room and stepping back out into the corridor. "Boring simply does not seem strong enough for how utterly…"

"Boring?" McGee offered again, glad when Ziva smiled a little at him—and didn't attempt to strangle him with her belt. Or beat him to death with his own shoe. Or she could simply shoot him, but McGee gave her more credit than that. He had to admire the woman's style, even if was always more Glock than Gucci.

"But yeah," McGee said, his hand unconsciously brushing his yet-unaccosted throat. "It is really boring. And I think I might fall asleep while walking, if that's even possible."

Ziva laughed. "You would look like one of those zombies from Tony's horror movies."

McGee started dragging his leg and staggering down the corridor, arms stretched out in front of him. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said.

"McGee," Ziva hissed suddenly, turning back to face him. "Wait."

The agent stopped cold at her businesslike tone. He opened his mouth but closed it with a sharp snap of teeth at her raised hand. She gestured to the intersection of corridors just ahead of them, and he pulled his gun, following her closely.

"… And so I was saying," a voice drifted down the hall, "I can't go out with her. It'd be like dating my sister!"

McGee and Ziva exchanged glances. McGee looked relieved, but Ziva placed the voice immediately and motioned for McGee to stay put. She waited, muscles tensed and ready for action, as the voices drew nearer. She knew she was correct in her identification and felt a little thrill of pleasure at what was to come.

Just as the voices reached the intersection, Ziva stepped out, her small fist doing maximum damage as it connected solidly with Willis' nose, breaking the cartilage and dropping him to his knees. She swept out with a lightning-quick foot and took Lowe's feet out before he even got a hand on his gun. McGee followed her into the corridor and quickly cuffed a swearing Lowe while Ziva stood over Willis.

She looked down at him with rage darkening her pretty brown eyes and kicked him hard. "That," she hissed furiously, "was for saying my partner tried to himself when you knew you were the one responsible."

She drew back again and lashed out viciously. "And that," she ground through clenched teeth, "was for trying to kill my partner."

McGee was trying to think of a way to tell her not to kill Willis without incurring her formidable wrath himself when she dropped to a knee and rolled the man over as if he weighed nothing more than a child. She cuffed him roughly and dragged him to his feet, only to have McGee reach out and grab her arm, dragging her down in a heap beside him.

"Wha—"

Her annoyed cry was cut off by the crack of the gun firing, and Willis dropped stone dead between them. The agents scrambled for cover on opposite sides of the intersection as the gun fired again, the bullet hitting Lowe squarely in the back as he tried to run, hands still cuffed behind him. McGee watched him fall to his knees and could do nothing—and wanted to do nothing—as two more bullets ripped through Lowe's body and he fell dead to the floor.

McGee exchanged a glance with Ziva, who snuck a peek around the wall. There was no answering bullet, and Ziva looked at Tim across the corridor and mouthed, _It's Squire._

McGee nodded, steady hands on his gun as he sneaked a peek of his own. Squire was walking calmly down the hall toward them.

"Don't worry," she called, so calm her own mother wouldn't have guessed she had just executed two men. "I'm not going to kill you. That's what they were here to do."

_Don't trust her,_ McGee mouthed to Ziva.

The Mossad officer nodded, dropped to the floor, and slithered into the open, firing once as a bullet sailed over her head in evidence of McGee's good judgment. Squire shrieked in pain, dropping to one knee, the bullet having passed clean through her right thigh. "You bitch!" she cried, dropping the gun, her hands going immediately for the wound.

McGee approached the pretty bleeding blonde, kicking away the gun and quickly assessing the flesh wound. He grabbed her hands as Ziva got up and walked calmly over, the complete lack of rage in her scaring McGee a bit after her rough punishment of Willis. The scars on Tony's wrists popped into his head, and he found himself wishing the two dead assailants hadn't gone down so easily.

But Ziva just looked down into the woman's startling blue eyes and cocked her head.

"Bitch?" she said as the radio crackled from the floor. "Not the word I was thinking of, petty officer."

* * *

Gibbs felt a fresh surge of rage that had nothing to do with Tony lying unconscious at his feet. But he simply stared as Fordham got no response on the radio.

The captain's eyes met with North's again, and Fordham tried again. "Lowe? Hannah?"

The radio squawked in his hand, and he almost dropped it at the transmission of Ziva's voice. "Ohhh, I am so sorry. Hannah cannot speak with you right now as she is bleeding rather profusely all over the floor."

Gibbs bit back a grin. _Attagirl, Ziver. _

Fordham was definitely not amused. "You bitch!" he cried, looking to North as if for help.

Ziva tsked over the connection. "You Americans and that word. Though it is not just the Americans. I have been called that in so many ways: _puta _in Spanish_, sharmotah _in Arabic_, kalba _in Hebrew_, orospu_ in Turkish_._" She tsked again."Not nice in any language."

"Shut up," Fordham barked. "Goddammit, do any of you people ever just shut up?"

Gibbs smiled, and saw that Benny even had a hint of one on his face despite the dire situation.

"Tell me where you are," Ziva said, "and I will not put another bullet through her pretty little head."

Gibbs watched the blood drain from Fordham's face and thought, _Guess we know who Squire's mystery man is. No wonder she never said his name. _He said casually, "You might want to do as she says. Agent David is very good at what she does, and she always keeps her word."

Fordham glowered, and North spoke to him from behind Gibbs. "Forget about her, Andrew. We can buy you a hundred girls once we get off this ship with the drugs."

"Shut up," Fordham said, and Gibbs wondered if the man was capable of any other thoughts—and how close he was to losing it completely. Gibbs' eyes slid to Tony's face, the blood pooling under his mouth, and he checked his breathing again. The agent's chest rose and fell evenly, and Gibbs telegraphed his thoughts to the unconscious man: _Just keep breathing, DiNozzo. I'll get you out of this. _

"Tell me where you are," Ziva repeated. "I will not ask again. And I will not give you a chance to say goodbye. Lowe and Willis can attest to that. Well, they could if they were not dead."

Gibbs felt the gun press harder against his skull as North leaned forward and plucked the radio from the captain's shaking fingers. North keyed the radio as Fordham glared at him. "You shoot her, and I'll return the favor, Agent David. And apparently I've got three times the very human leverage down here."

"Down where?" came the swift reply.

North laughed. "Nice try," he said, and Gibbs _heard_ the sick smile in his voice. "And nice catch on my little slip. It will not happen again."

"Your time is up," Ziva said, steel in her voice. Gibbs was certain he was the only one in the room who heard the slight anxiety in her words. "If you want us to play your little game, you will tell me where you are. If not, kill them. They do not mean nearly as much to me as Ms. Squire so obviously means to you."

"Bubba, give me that radio," Fordham said, his voice taut. "Now. You heard her. She killed Lowe and Willis. She'll kill Hannah if we don't do what she says."

North lifted a shoulder. "Collateral damage," he said.

And those were his last words.

Fordham lifted the gun and shot him right between the eyes.

Benny had been watching the exchange as a viewer takes in an afternoon matinee. The words, the emotions, the action all seemed faraway and contained as if it were simply playing out on a big, lifelike silver screen, and even though he could feel the ties biting into his skin, he felt distanced and safe from their violence.

Until his former friend dropped dead as a side of beef to the floor.

Benny watched the blood pool around the dead man's head, and the young cook suddenly thought of borscht. And then he almost threw up.

His wide, dark eyes flicked back to Tony's unmoving face, the blood leaking from his nose darker than that spreading from Bubba's gaping skull. He wondered why that was and almost threw up again. _Jesus, Tony. _This _is your life? This is the kind of thing you deal with all the time? Day after bloody fucking day? Goddamn, Tony. No wonder you have nightmares. I'm never going to get this mess out of my head. _

Benny forced himself to calm down. He imagined Tony calling "Blasphemy!" in reaction to his unspoken thoughts, and it oddly made him feel better. Benny thought back to the many stories Tony had told him about his boss, and he felt Tony's absolute trust in the man flood his own mind.

He watched Gibbs barely flinch at the gunshot and stare down the barrel of the gun suddenly pointing at his face. In that moment, Benny knew the agent would have charged the captain had he and Tony not been in the room, and he felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude that this man was on his side.

Fordham's eyes never left Gibbs' as he picked up the radio and spoke. "Agent David? Where are you? I'm coming to meet you."

"And your prisoners?" came Ziva's immediate reply.

"They are free to go," Fordham said calmly. "All I care about is Hannah. And getting her and I off this ship together. Just like we planned."

Ziva made a rude little noise. "How touching," she said dryly. "But what about North? Even if I believed you, somehow I think _he_ will not just let them walk away."

"All they have to do is step over his body," Fordham said, his eyes still on Gibbs' face. "I just shot him."

"And I am, what, just supposed to believe you? A self-proclaimed killer?"

Fordham wiggled the gun in Gibbs' face. "Tell her, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs glared at the man. "He shot North, Ziva," Gibbs said, his voice calm and assured. "He won't let me go. Or Tony or Benny. Probably just tie us up because he needs us for his plan."

Ziva did not care if Fordham did not let them go—just so long as he decided not to shoot them. And she could only pray the man would not do that, that it did not fit into his "plan."

Gibbs saw Fordham bristle as he called him out on his lie and nailed his motivations. He just continued calmly, "Is McGee with you?"

"McGee is dead," Ziva lied. She added, "Lowe shot in him the back of the head, just like Agent Jardine died."

Gibbs nodded, forcing an appropriately dismayed expression. "I'm sorry to hear that, Agent David. Tim was a fine agent."

"Enough," Fordham barked. "Your location?"

Ziva gave him the compartment number, and Gibbs unwittingly mirrored her fervent hope that Fordham wouldn't put matching bullets in all their heads before leaving the massive storage room.

But apparently Fordham was still sticking with the plan. The coldness in his eyes made Gibbs wonder if killing North hadn't been part of that plan all along. Fordham certainly hadn't hesitated to end the man's life.

Fordham jerked his chin at a pile of rope on the floor. "Tie him up," he said, his eyes flicking to Tony's unmoving body.

Gibbs just glared, even as he felt a surge of relief. If the captain was going to leave, then they still had chance. "And if I refuse?"

Fordham kicked Tony hard in the stomach, sending the agent sprawling onto his back. "Next he gets a bullet to the head. It is part of the plan, after all."

"Then why not just do it now?" Gibbs asked, hoping he was right and that he wasn't killing his agent.

Fordham smiled a puppet-master's smile, the smile of a man who thought he held all the cards. Too bad he didn't know the ace in the hole Gibbs had in Ziva—and an undead McGee. "I know what you do, Agent NCIS. I want the TODs to be as close as possible for the scene I have planned."

Gibbs nodded. "You're going to bring Agent David and Squire down here. Make it look like we all killed each other in the gunfight. With you as the only living witness to pin everything on them, of course."

"Hannah and I will survive," Fordham said tightly. "But you're right. And your Agent David made it easier on me, killing Willis and Lowe."

"Less people means less guns means less angles to get right," Gibbs agreed casually. His eyes narrowed and he smiled. "And Hannah even took a bullet from my agent's gun. That works nicely for you. I hope it was Agent McGee that got her. He really was a good agent."

Fordham scowled, his eyes going hard again. "And if it was Agent David who shot my Hannah," he said, "then I will make sure her death is not quick."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Gibbs asked, his gaze sliding to Benny. "What's he supposed to be doing down here?"

Fordham's lips curled into a sneer. "Stupid North," he spat. He looked at the cook. "He's been watching your emails, trying to make sure DiNozzo didn't find out about his little lie about his sexual orientation. A very good cover, I must say, though."

The captain eyed North's body and then turned his gaze to Tony. He kicked at the cast on Tony's hand absently, and Gibbs felt his blood boil. "And when Agent Rainbow here decided to sweep it all under the rug, well, that was just perfect. But then North saw Agent McGee's email about their revelation and decided you needed to go, too."

"That's a nice speech," Gibbs said, his voice still hard with barely contained fury, "but it still doesn't explain why he's in the middle of a gun battle."

Fordham lifted a shoulder. "Collateral damage," he said, his eyes flashing as he remembered North's words. "Enough talking. Tie him up, tightly. I want to see purple fingers."

Gibbs knelt down, gently gathering Tony's wrists in his hands. He looped the rope around the left, surreptitiously taking the agent's pulse as he did it and finding it slow but steady. He tied the bindings around the cast, not taking nearly as much care in wrapping the rope around the plaster.

He stood and Fordham eyed his handiwork. "Cuff yourself," the captain ordered.

Gibbs complied, snapping his own cuffs onto his wrists in front of him and hoping Fordham wouldn't make him move his hands behind his back. The man just tucked the gun into his waistband and adjusted the cuffs to blood-restricting tightness. He knelt beside Tony, keeping the agent's prone body between himself and Gibbs, and he tugged roughly on the rope binding DiNozzo's hands. Gibbs tried not to wince as the coarse rope bit into the scarred skin on his left wrist.

Fordham walked Gibbs to the length of pipe a few feet from Benny and told him to sit. The captain tied him to the pipe and moved back to where Tony lay, still unmoving. Fordham grabbed him and dragged him across the floor, smearing blood behind him. He secured the agent's limp arms to the pipe in a show of seemingly spectacular overkill considering the man's current state.

Fordham paused at the door. "Don't worry. I won't be long in returning with the rest of the cast for this little scene. 'The play's the thing!' " he said, laughing an unsteady little laugh as he left, shutting the heavy steel door behind him with a clang that echoed through their cavernous prison.


	51. Chapter 51

"Really?" Tony said, his eyes popping open as soon as the door clanged shut. "Shakespeare? He's got the perfect opening to do Schwarzenegger, and he does _Shakespeare_?"

Benny looked mystified, but Gibbs just shook his head with a small smile. "How long you been with us, DiNozzo?"

"Since that bastard woke me up from my little nap with a boot in the ribs instead of bacon and eggs," Tony said, sighing and deciding to hold off on trying to sit up. Horizontal suited him just fine for the moment. "You know how long it's been since I've had a girl bring me breakfast in bed?"

"Oh, Schwarzenegger," Benny said, looking mostly stunned and confused. " 'I'll be back', right?"

Tony would have laughed if not for the pain in his chest and belly. "Welcome aboard, Benny. Glad you could join us."

Benny glared at him. "Hey, just because this is just another day at the office for you doesn't mean it is for me. My weapon of choice is a carrot-peeler, not a Glock."

"I carry a Sig," Tony said, knowing without looking that Gibbs was about to explode. His tone went soft when he asked, "So how screwed are we, Boss?"

"First things first, DiNozzo," Gibbs said just as softly. "How bad did he hurt you?"

Tony looked around the big room to try to avoid paying attention to his own throbbing body. He knew the pounding in his skull and blurry vision meant a concussion—as if the whole loss of consciousness thing hadn't told him that already. He knew that little misfortune was likely related to the reason he couldn't breathe through his nose and he'd probably have to throw out this shirt. He knew the stabbing pain in his left side meant cracked or broken rib. He knew the hard ache in his belly meant he'd been kicked more than once. _Damned Navy bastards and their boots. Who the hell needs boots on a ship? You could easily walk around in bare feet, the only danger being a potentially lethal stubbed toe._

His eyes landed on North's dead body, and Tony said, "I'm feeling better than him."

"That bad, DiNozzo?"

"I'll be fine, Gibbs. Stop deflecting and tell me how screwed we are."

Gibbs cracked a smile at that. "We might not be. Thanks to your friendly neighborhood Mossad officer."

"I knew I loved Ziva," Tony said, letting his eyes close to try to clear the dizziness. "Why, exactly, do I love her, though?"

"Fordham's on his way to go rescue his girlfriend Hannah Squire from her evil clutches," Gibbs said, watching Tony consider that and fit it into their theories. "But he'll get a not-so-nice surprise when he finds Squire, one seriously pissed-off ex-assassin and McGee waiting for him."

Benny's eyes snapped to Gibbs and then slid uneasily to Tony. He wondered why Gibbs wasn't telling Tony that McGee was dead. "But Gibbs," Benny said, his voice low and pained. "McGee's…"

Tony jerked upright at Benny's tone with a gasp of pain that wasn't entirely rooted in the physical. "McGee's what?" he demanded, wishing he could wrap his bound arms around his aching ribs.

"McGee's fine," Gibbs said, watching Benny's face. "Agent Jardine is alive and well, too, Benny. Ziva was lying to Fordham."

Benny nodded slowly, feeling relief wash over him that Tim was okay. "So he won't know he's walking into a trap."

"Right," Tony said, his voice showing the same relief that the probie was alive and kicking to annoy him with geek-speak another day.

"But I don't understand why the captain would go so willingly," Benny said, watching Tony study the rope around the cast on his right hand. _Told you that was one freakin' grotesque injury, my friend. _"He knows Lowe and Willis are dead so he has no backup, except Hannah, who apparently got shot by someone. You people and your guns…"

Gibbs lifted a shoulder, watching Tony too and not liking the look in his eyes. DiNozzo had barely reacted to the fact that two of his attackers were dead, possibly all three depending on the captain's role. Gibbs was fairly certain North was the brains of this operation, if for no other reason than that Fordham had left North's gun in the middle of the floor next to his dead body. He had also rushed off to rescue his damsel in distress without asking for proof of life. Clearly not the brightest criminal they had ever dealt with. It made Gibbs wonder who had done the actual cutting and if they would ever know.

"He's overconfident that he can handle Ziva. And he's out of his mind for Squire. Apparently the plan is to get her out, too, no matter what."

"Ah, the plan," Tony said, giving his right arm an experimental tug against the rope and wincing. "It's actually not a bad one. Everyone dies in a wild west shootout, leaving him to spin the tale however he wants."

"And Squire was clear because we never could connect her to the attack. Just the drug use," Gibbs said. "It'll be interesting to see how he tries to explain her presence here, though. But we might never get to hear him try."

"Because he's not counting on our deadly Officer David to thwart the plan," Tony said, wishing Ducky hadn't done such a good job with his handiwork, as he'd called it. He tried to wiggle his fingers and shimmy his hand out of the cast, but the movement brought swift, searing pain to the broken bone and he stopped, waiting for the black dots to clear from the edges of his vision.

"Officer David," Benny said thoughtfully. "You called her Agent David, Gibbs, so the captain would forget she's a Mossad ninja assassin crazy killer woman."

"Don't ever let her hear you call her that," Tony said, catching Gibbs watching him pull at the cast. Tony pulled himself painfully to his knees using his hands, tied at shoulder level, to tow his battered body upright, even though the rope chewed at his wrist. He pulled downward on the cast, using his weight to try to slip free.

"Take every little advantage you can get, Benny," Gibbs said simply. He saw Tony flinch and close his eyes as he tugged on the cast. "Knock that off before you pass out again, DiNozzo."

"Seriously, Tony," Benny agreed, wincing at the sidelong glare Tony tossed at him. "That's got to hurt like hell."

"I'll take pain over dead, Benny," Tony answered, biting the undamaged side of his lip and jerking on the cast. "Ah, shit. Ow."

Benny grinned suddenly. " 'You know the best thing about pain? It lets you know you're not dead yet!' "

Tony laughed out loud as Gibbs looked at them like they'd lost their minds. "Ohhhh yeah. 'GI Jane.' 1997 Ridley Scott work of art. Demi Moore, Viggo Mortensen. Best chick flick ever."

Benny raised an eyebrow at him. "There are women who would castrate you for calling it that."

"Nah, they'd just tell me to suck their… never mind. Don't look at me like that, Boss. It's actually relevant to the conversation, and not just because of the perfect quote my good friend here just trotted out. It's about a female Navy SEAL—"

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs barked.

Tony grinned, feeling the stretch in his split lip. "And you can't even headslap me."

"Tony," Gibbs said, giving him a look that succeeded in making him somewhat ashamed of his antics, even if they were keeping Benny from panicking. He didn't take the rebuke too harshly, though, because he knew Gibbs knew exactly what he was doing.

He just hoped the man hadn't anticipated his next move.

"Maybe it's a good thing you're cuffed all the way over there, Boss," Tony said, placing his cast against the pipe. "Because you'd smack me into next week for this."

Gibbs knew what was coming but didn't turn away as Tony pulled back as far as he could and drove his left shoulder into the plaster covering his right wrist. Gibbs just hoped the loud cracking he heard was the cast and not another of DiNozzo's bones.

"Fuuuuuuuuucccckkkkk," DiNozzo howled before slumping against the pipe, his bloody cheek resting against the cool metal as he tried to slow his breathing. He waited for the blackness to clear from his vision before inspecting the damage.

"Fuck that hurt," he panted, watching Benny look at him as if he suddenly had wings. "Did I mention that? Because if I didn't, let me repeat. _Fuck_ that hurt."

"DiNozzo. Of all the stupid, dangerous, reckless, boneheaded things you've done," Gibbs said, and he watched as Tony pulled his broken hand from the even more broken cast with a low groan. "That was the most brilliant thing you've ever done."

Tony grinned at him. "Whoa, Gibbs, easy on the kudos. I know you probably packed only so much. And I can do that one better," he said, still breathing hard through the pain as he reached for his belt, his right hand stinging and clumsy. "Goddamn. I haven't fumbled this much since junior high. Uh, take that any way you want to."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and watched, wondering if his pale, shaky agent was going to pass out before freeing the knife.

"Rule No. 9," DiNozzo said, pulling the blade and slicing through the rope binding his left wrist without blinking.

Tony sat on his heels for a moment before getting up to stagger his dizzy way over to where Benny sat, looking up at him in awe and holding his hands out like an offering.

"What?" Tony asked, looking down and trying not to pass out.

Benny just smiled even though Tony looked like hell. He asked softly, "You really are badass, aren't you?"


	52. Chapter 52

"So what's the plan?" McGee asked.

Ziva looked at Squire, who was cuffed to the wall in the office. Stick shivered at the intensity in her glare and was suddenly glad this woman was on his side. He lounged in his chair, though, keeping silent as he watched.

"Now he's coming to kill you," the blonde woman spat at them, grinning.

Ziva walked over to her and unnecessarily tightened the makeshift bandage on her thigh. "I seriously doubt that."

Squire glared.

"Where is he keeping them?" Ziva asked, her hand still on the woman's leg.

"Like I'm going to tell you that."

Ziva's fingers tightened fractionally, and McGee looked away. _Plausible deniability, right? _

Stick just watched, slightly wide-eyed and grinning.

"You think you can get me to spill just by hurting me?" Squire asked. She laughed. "Nice try."

Ziva's hand left her leg, moving to pluck a long knife from her belt.

Squire's eyes widened, and McGee studied the schematics of the ship more closely. Stick's grin got wider and he was glad he was situated behind Squire. His eyes met Ziva's and he could have sworn he saw his own grin mirrored in their pretty dark depths.

But her face was unreadable as Ziva hefted the blade, as if testing its weight. As if she didn't know every nuance of this weapon.

"It is not for you," Ziva said casually, her eyes never leaving the knife. "It is for him."

Squire shrieked incoherent words mangled by her rage, ending with, "You bitch!"

Ziva simply rolled her eyes. "Could you be any more unoriginal?" She set the blade flat against Squire's thigh, just below the wound. "I was going to beat their location out of him. But the way you keep looking at this knife, I think it might be more fun to carve it out of him."

"Cargo hold," Squire said immediately. "Don't know which one."

"How many are there?" Ziva asked, tapping the blade to the tune of a favored Hebrew lullaby.

McGee just knew she wasn't asking him, even though he had the ship's plans spread out in front of him.

"Two," Squire said, obedient as a well-trained German shepherd. "One at each end of the ship. I don't know which one."

"Liar?" Ziva said softly, no accusation at all in her tone.

But Squire still stiffened and twin tears tracked down her pretty face. "Lowe knew. Andy—er, Captain Fordham—didn't want me to know in case…"

She trailed off, eyes wide on the knife on her leg and her mouth slightly open.

McGee almost wanted to kiss her.

Almost.

But he also wanted to kill her.

But Ziva just smiled benignly. "Guess you should have asked him before you shot him in the back."

Squire's lip trembled.

Ziva scoffed. "And here I thought you were going to be a challenge. Given the way you dropped them so quickly, so coldly, so efficiently." She sighed. "I really thought we could have fun together."

McGee let that hang in the air, just in case Squire had been lying, even though he didn't think it was even possible to lie to Ziva at that moment. Not with that look in her eyes. Not with her holding that knife so lovingly. He was tempted to tell her the sky was green just to test his theory.

But he preferred to keep his blood inside him. "Where the hell is he, anyway?" he asked, glancing at his watch. "This office is dead center between the cargo holds. He should be here by now."

Ziva frowned, nodding. "Perhaps he roostered out."

Stick laughed. "Chickened out," he said, his eyes on the knife and thinking he was _really_ glad she was on his side.

But Ziva just nodded. "Right," she said, cocking her head at Squire. "Perhaps he decided you are not worth it."

Squire glared, her lush lips twisting in an ugly sneer. "Shut up."

Ziva made a little tsking sound. "You are not in a position to give orders, petty officer."

"He's coming," Squire said, sounding like she was trying to convince herself as well. "He wouldn't leave me here."

McGee was frowning. "I don't like it," he said. "He should be here by now."

"You think we should go hunting?" Ziva asked, her eyes on her knife as she held it up to the light.

"I do," McGee said. "You go one way, I'll go the other."

Ziva nodded, looking at Squire and tapping her finger on the tip of the blade. "And our friend?"

McGee paused, thinking. "Gag her and leave her."

"You are no fun sometimes, McGee," Ziva pouted. "We could kill her."

McGee smiled, deciding to play along because it seemed Ziva was having so much fun. "We could," he agreed, the smile dropping off his face. "But I think DiNozzo would rather have the honors."

Squire went pale, and no one made the mistake of thinking it was from her minimal blood loss.

"Uh, guys?" Stick said, wondering if they had forgotten he was there. But he had to admit it was fun watching them fall into roles that seemed to fit as comfortably as well-worn jeans. "I'll stay here with her. You go find the dirtbag."

McGee snorted. "We're sure as hell not taking her to the brig. I'd like to know how Willis and Lowe got free."

"Andy ordered them to be released," Squire said, watching Ziva watch her. She suddenly was feeling helpful.

"And the guards just let them walk away?" Stick asked, raising an eyebrow. "Without the agent afloat's orders?"

Squire scoffed, craning her neck and trying to look at Stick. "He's the captain. He kind of outranks you."

Stick found himself wanting to borrow Ziva's knife, but he simply said, "Not for long."

Ziva and McGee had moved to the door, and Stick said, "Watch your backs, all right?"

McGee looked back and smiled. "We will. You two have fun."

Stick came around in front of Squire and gave a toothy grin. "I think we're gonna get along just fine."

* * *

Benny rubbed his newly freed wrists and got up with the speed of a much smaller man, catching Tony just as the agent's knees buckled. Benny held him for a moment, letting Tony rest his head against his shoulder before saying, "Geez, Tony. If you wanted to hug me, all you had to do was ask."

"I don't ask, and you'd better not tell," Tony murmured, fighting the dizziness and pain. He groaned softly as Benny lowered him to the floor and propped him up with his back against the wall.

"If you two are done?" Gibbs asked, holding up his hands and rattling the cuffs. He knew the bite in his voice was just to mask the concern he felt watching Tony wrap his arms around his injured ribs, cradling his broken right hand in the crook of his left elbow.

Benny went and retrieved the key to Gibbs' cuffs from where Fordham had tossed it next to Bubba's discarded gun. He freed Gibbs and watched the agent move quickly to Tony's side, but not before picking up the gun and checking it over. Gibbs pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gingerly mopped the blood from Tony's bruised face.

"How you holding up, DiNozzo?" he asked softly, watching Tony trying to focus on his face and wondering how many of him his agent was seeing.

Tony just grunted softly in response and closed his eyes.

"Hey," Gibbs said, tightening his grip on Tony's arm. "Do I need to remind you that DiNozzos don't pass out?"

Tony's eyes opened, and Gibbs frowned hard at the pain in them.

"This one might, Boss," Tony said, sounding exhausted as his eyes drifted closed again.

Gibbs waved Benny over, seeing the fear written across his face and giving the young man a reassuring smile. Benny slid down beside Tony and let him rest against his shoulder again. Gibbs went to the door and wasn't surprised to find he couldn't open it.

"Fordham's an idiot," Tony said, his eyes still closed. "But I guess he thought of blocking the door."

"But he left the gun," Gibbs said, shaking his head. "Guess Bubba was the brains of the operation."

"So what's the plan?" Tony asked.

Gibbs turned back to his agent, watching him struggle to breathe through the pain. "You keep breathing, DiNozzo. I'm going to try to get us out of here."

"Good plan, Boss."

"And with any luck, it'll be Ziva and McGee who come for us, and not Fordham."

Tony looked up at Benny, saw him flinch at the sight of his bloody, bruised face, and asked, "You feelin' lucky?"

* * *

Fordham walked down the corridor, headed for the office—and for Hannah. He was feeling pretty proud of himself that he had thought to make that announcement and clear the corridors. He yawned, remembering it was almost 0500 and he needed to get this over with before the ship started to come alive. And before antsy sailors started disobeying orders.

He was about halfway to the office when he reached for his gun, needing to feel its reassuring weight as he mentally prepared himself for what was to come. He smiled, thinking about how easy it was going to be to take out one female agent.

The smile faded as he touched the gun and remembered that he had left Bubba's lying next to the dead man's body. He stopped short, wondering if he should go back for it. He thought about his captives, tightly tied up back in the hold, and he started walking again.

But then he remembered the reason all of this was happening. DiNozzo was good. Scary good. And while Fordham smiled at the memory of landing those hard blows against the agent, he also knew Gibbs was the one who had trained him. He had seen the sharpness in the man's icy eyes and that was what made him turn and head back toward the hold.

_Hang on, Hannah baby. I'm coming for you._

* * *

McGee turned left out of the office while Ziva moved to the right—but not before exchanging glances that easily read: _Watch your six_.

McGee fought a yawn as he pulled his gun, knowing he had the element of surprise on his side but that he would have only seconds to act if he encountered Fordham. Since he was on high alert despite the early hour, he reacted immediately to Ziva's sharp call of his name. He spun and took off down the corridor only to find her staring at the floor.

She looked up from the blood there and met McGee's eyes. They moved silently down the hall, and Ziva pointed to the next droplets of blood she saw.

She smiled even as images of the blood they had found on the cot in the office flashed through her head. "Breadcrumbs, no?"

McGee grinned. "Breadcrumbs," he agreed as they began racing down the corridor. "DiNozzo-style."


	53. Chapter 53

Gibbs wasn't sure how long he stared at the door, but it was long enough to know there was no way in hell he was getting it open without a blowtorch and enough acetylene to drown a horse. He felt Benny's eyes on him and turned, wincing at Tony's pale face resting on the cook's massive shoulder. Benny had a handkerchief pressed gently against Tony's nose and was holding his head forward to keep him from swallowing the blood.

"He still with us?" Gibbs asked, hoping to get a cheeky retort from his agent.

But Benny just shook his head. "Been out for about five minutes," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. The sight of Gibbs with a gun in his obviously capable hands and memories of the stories Tony had told him were the only things keeping Benny calm as he strained to listen for signs of the mad captain coming back to kill them all. "I don't think he's unconscious, though. His breathing is too uneven."

Gibbs nodded. "You get that bleeding stopped?"

Benny pulled the cloth away and then nodded back mutely, watching Gibbs look around the room as if trying to find something.

"We need to move him," Gibbs said, crossing the big room and crouching beside the pair. "Let's get you two out of the open."

Benny nodded, following Gibbs' eyes to a large crate in the corner of the hold. He may have been "just a big dumb cook" as he had said to Tony all those weeks ago, but he wasn't stupid. He was unarmed and Tony was injured and barely conscious—and there was enough metal in the place to make bullets bounce like driving rain on a wet street.

"Should we wake him?" Benny asked, turning nervous eyes to Tony's closed ones.

"Probably won't have a choice," Gibbs said, tucking the gun into his pants and sliding an arm under Tony's shoulders. He waited until Benny had moved to Tony's feet before saying softly, "No real way to do this without hurting him. Just make it quick and he'll be fine, okay?"

Benny swallowed hard and nodded. "He never makes anything easy, does he?"

Gibbs smiled and shook his head as they lifted the agent's limp body and starting moving him toward the shelter of the crate. Tony came awake with a soft groan about halfway there—roughly the same time that they heard shouts in the hall and saw the big door starting to open.

* * *

Ziva and McGee raced through the corridors, following the blood trail and both wondering what condition they would find their teammate in when they got to their destination. Ziva felt a rush of adrenaline and excitement as they neared the hold, content that she would soon be able to make the man responsible for hurting her friend pay. McGee just hoped like hell that the blood wasn't from Tony's wrists. He could still see those long rows of black stitches and those red droplets flying when Tony had erupted in his apartment seemingly forever ago.

He shook the thoughts from his head as they rounded the corner—and saw Fordham opening the cargo hold door.

"Federal agents!" McGee shouted.

"Freeze!" Ziva yelled, putting a round into the metal in the exact location Fordham's head would have been had the captain not dove through the open door.

* * *

Gibbs gave Benny a pointed look, and the cook nodded, moving quickly to take Tony's shuddering weight and start dragging him to the crate. He looped an arm around Tony's chest and tried to ignore his friend's choked gasps of pain as he hauled him away from the door.

Gibbs turned and squared his stance just as Fordham came rushing through the door and firing wildly, sending bullets bouncing through the cavernous space.

The gunfire pulled Tony out of his foggy little world of pain, and he pulled free of Benny's embrace, barking "Move!" as Benny helped him stagger toward safety. He heard the cook's soft grunt of pain—and he was pretty sure the whole ship heard his accented "Go'dammit all it t' hell!"

Gibbs ignored them—and the flurry of bullets and ricochets flying around him—and leveled the gun squarely at Fordham's head. A soft smile curved his mouth as images of Tony's raw wounds that night in the hospital swam through his mind.

Gibbs was about to put a bullet through Fordham's mind when he saw McGee step into the hold, his gun touching the back of the captain's head and making his eyes go wide.

"Drop it," Gibbs and McGee said at the same time. Gibbs' voice was calm and deliberate, but McGee's was shaking with rage.

As was the gun at the back of the head of the man responsible for causing his teammate—his friend—so much pain. McGee could feel his breath sawing in and out of his lungs as he fought not to pull the trigger. He met Gibbs' eyes over Fordham's shoulder and saw his boss shake his head slightly. McGee's eyes slid to where Tony was on his knees, his nose dripping dark blood onto hands pressed over a bleeding wound in Benny's thigh.

Tony looked up at him with unreadable eyes—but McGee read him anyway.

"Ziva," McGee said, his hands suddenly as steady as his tone. "Take his weapon."

Ziva stepped out from behind them and took the weapon while McGee pulled his cuffs, his eyes never leaving Tony's as he snapped them tightly around Fordham's wrists. Ziva unloaded the weapon and made a call on the radio for several MAs and a medical team. Then she reached out and took Fordham's manacled wrists, giving the metal a brutal jerk and smiling softly all the while. The man grunted in pain, and Ziva kicked him hard in the back of the leg, forcing him to his knees.

"Ziva," Gibbs said, the name a warning.

"You have no idea how lucky you are," she said, leaning down and whispering, her breath ghosting over his ear like an angry lover.

McGee took Tony's place beside Benny and watched his friend get up, shaking off Gibbs' hand as he tried to take his arm to steady his trembling agent.

Tony took a few staggering steps toward Fordham, who was still on his knees with his cuffed arms locked in Ziva's death grip. The knife was in DiNozzo's hand before any of them could react, and they all watched, stunned as Tony jerked Fordham's chin up and rested the blade against his exposed throat.

Tony's eyes burned with pain and fury as he came face-to-face with his sole surviving attacker. His wrists were ablaze with the same intensity in his gaze as he remembered the helplessness he had felt while lying on the floor, feeling his strength pouring away along with the hot blood pumping from the deep wounds.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slit your throat and watch you bleed."

Fordham didn't speak.

But Gibbs did. "Because you're better than them, DiNozzo," he said softly, moving to Tony's side.

"Boss," Tony whispered, his voice ragged. "But I want…"

Gibbs' hand landed on Tony's wrist just as the agent removed the blade. "I know, Tony," Gibbs said, taking the knife from the trembling hand. "So do I."

Tony drew a shuddering breath, his eyes closing in pain as he wrapped his arms around his damaged ribs. Gibbs put a hand on his shoulder and led him away just as the room came alive with activity around them. Tony barely noticed the MAs taking custody of Fordham and reading him his rights. He barely noticed Ziva and McGee watching him with wide eyes. He barely noticed Gibbs supporting him as he collapsed beside Benny.

Tony stared down at the healing wounds in his wrists. He took as deep a breath as he could through the pain and closed his eyes, feeling Gibbs' hand tighten fractionally on his arm.

He opened his eyes again and looked up at Benny's sweating face. "You okay, Benny?" he asked softly.

Benny just grinned even though his leg burned like hellfire where McGee was pressing down on his wound. He lifted a big shoulder and said, "Just a ricochet." He paused, cocking his head. "Or to put it in your terms, 'Just a flesh wound.' "

Tony found a genuine smile for him at the movie reference.

"Besides," Benny continued. "Chicks dig scars."

Tony flicked a glance back at his wrists and looked up again. "Careful there, Benny."

Benny frowned at him, giving him a questioning look.

But Tony just grinned. "Starting to sound a little badass yourself."


	54. Chapter 54

The team got caught up in the whirlwind of the aftermath of violence, and by the time they had processed the Lowe and Willis scene and the cargo hold, they were all completely drained as they went to the infirmary to check on Benny and Tony.

They found Benny first, sitting up in bed with his leg propped up and munching away on something so delicious-smelling that their stomachs growled in unison.

"Just a flesh wound?" McGee asked, nodding to the bandages.

Benny nodded. "Yep," he said, his smile fading. "If you're looking for Tony, you're not going to be happy."

Gibbs scowled. "When did he leave?"

Benny grinned despite his trepidation, and he wasn't sure if it stemmed from knowing how bad Tony had looked after getting his hand reset, his broken nose packed and the cracked ribs taped—or from the way Gibbs was staring him down.

" 'Bout a half-hour ago," Benny answered, filling them in on his injuries. "He had some choice words for the corpsman—just like I had some colorful ones for him. But you know how he is. Stubborn as a mule. Or a jackass, maybe."

"He say where he was going?" Gibbs asked even though he already knew.

"Nope," Benny said, shaking his head. "But he said you'd know where to find him."

Gibbs couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. He looked at McGee and Ziva. "You two go get some sleep before we head back." He went for the door and turned back, watching the tired agents settle in around Benny, who offered up his snacks. "But that's not an order."

* * *

Gibbs opened the door to the office slowly, having known exactly where to find his missing agent. He stopped short, though, not having expected to find Tony flat on his back in the middle of the small room. He looked down, taking in the way Tony's arms were tucked under him, elbows wide with his head resting on the new cast.

He looked so relaxed as he stared up at the ceiling that Gibbs had the sudden image of him lying on a beach somewhere instead of in the exact position he had almost died.

"Little early for star-gazing," Gibbs said, settling into a chair, his eyes never leaving Tony's face.

"Mmmm," Tony said, wondering how Gibbs had known he was awake and then almost laughing at that thought. "View kinda sucks, too."

Gibbs smiled, but then he shifted uncomfortably, not making a sound but not surprised to find Tony's green eyes suddenly on him.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked softly.

Tony closed his eyes again and let out a shuddery breath, infinitely grateful for the massive quantities of painkillers he hadn't even bothered to fight the corpsman over—even though they were making him sleepy and muddling his thoughts. But then again, he had no idea what he was supposed to be thinking anyway so he really didn't mind.

He realized he hadn't answered and said, "I'm good."

_You're lying there with multiple broken bones where you almost bled to death in the same fashion your mother killed herself. _

_And you're "good"?_

But he just said, "Try again, DiNozzo."

"I didn't say I was 'fine'," Tony ventured.

"Try again."

Tony just smiled softly, not sure of much right then—not sure if he would ever finish trying to reconcile all of his varying emotions—but he was sure of one thing.

"Still breathing, Gibbs."

Gibbs debated, wondering if he should push it or not. At least it was the truth. He looked down and winced at the twin bruises under Tony's eyes from the broken nose, the bloody gauze packed inside. "How, I'm not sure," Gibbs said. "You sound more stuffed than that hippo of Abby's."

Tony smiled. "I miss Abby," he said dreamily, but then his eyes popped open. "You're not waiting on me to leave, are you? Are we going now?"

"We go whenever you're ready," Gibbs said firmly. "You should probably try to get some sleep first."

Tony was already shaking his head. "I can sleep on the plane."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, thinking about Tony's damaged ribs. "Not exactly first-class, DiNozzo."

"I don't care," Tony said, wondering how he was going to get up, and realizing it would probably be the same way he had gotten down—painfully. "I just want to go home."

"Well then," Gibbs said, standing and reaching down a simple hand even though he knew there were gentler ways to help him up. "Quit lying around and let's go."

Tony grinned and took the proffered hand. "On it, Boss."

* * *

The plane was definitely not first-class.

But none of them cared. Not even Benny with his wounded leg—because, as he said, "I'm going _home_! Okay, well, not home, home. But to my new home."

Tony's foggy brain caught up with that a few minutes later, and he interrupted the current conversation to ask, "You're moving to the District? What about your restaurant?"

Benny grinned at him. "The building I bought is in DC."

"What about 'Nawlins?" Tony asked, ignoring Ziva's confused gaze at his pronunciation. _Try finding _that_ on a map, Mossad ninja!_

"I'm not quite good enough for the French Quarter, Tony," Benny said, still smiling. "Someday, though."

Tony shook his head hard enough to make himself dizzy. "Blasphemy," he said, stifling a giggle at the look on Benny's face.

Benny just smiled. "You're high as a kite right now, aren't you?"

Tony nodded enthusiastically. "Flying," he agreed. Then he giggled again. "Flying while flying. It's like double flying."

"Gonna be triple flying when I smack you," Gibbs said mildly, not looking up from the book he had pilfered from Tony's shelf during the long protection detail.

Tony laughed again, feeling distance-induced bravery. "Love to see you try from there."

Gibbs just lifted a shoulder. "McGee."

"Ow!" Tony cried theatrically as McGee whacked him across the back of the head from his seat next to him. He waved a hand around his bruised, swollen face. "Injured?"

"Orders?" McGee shot back, gesturing at Gibbs.

Benny just laughed. "How do you put up with these two?" he asked Gibbs.

The lead agent set the book aside, allowing himself to be drawn into the conversation. He flicked a glance at Tony, a memory swimming to the surface. "They get to be too much, I just toss them out of the plane."

McGee gaped, Ziva smiled, and Tony's eyes lit up with the same memory. "As I recall, _you_ didn't toss me out of that plane."

Benny's jaw dropped. "He's serious?"

"Well you sure as hell didn't jump," Gibbs teased.

"I would have," Tony returned, remembering all of Gibbs' teasing during that case and trying to block the memories of Kate that were more painful than his current physical injuries.

"I know," Gibbs said simply, and Tony felt a rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the painkillers.

"What was it like?" Benny asked, turning slightly so he could see Tony's face. He saw straight past the bruising and locked onto the sparkle in those green eyes. "Jumping, falling and/or getting tossed out of a plane?"

"He screamed," Gibbs said casually.

Benny laughed.

"Why do you want to know?" Tony asked, shooting Gibbs a mock-angry glare. He turned to Benny and deadpanned, "Ya wanna try it?"

Benny grinned. "Jackass." He rolled his eyes. "Really. What was it like?"

Tony lifted a shoulder. "Like flying," he said, watching Benny glare at him. "Without the plane."

"You should tell him about the landing," Gibbs offered, a helpful smile on his face.

Tony sighed dramatically. "Uh, yeah, the landing. Not my favorite part."

"The tree might have had something to do with that," Gibbs said, watching Tony carefully and noting the lines were gone from his face. He didn't know if it was the painkillers or the banter, but he knew in that moment that Tony was going to be okay. "But other than that, you did good."

Tony flushed slightly at the rare praise. "You know what they say," he said. "It's not the fall that kills ya..."

"It's the sudden stop," Gibbs finished for him.


	55. Chapter 55

Tony leaned against the window frame in the interrogation room, watching Gibbs flip casually through a file and ignore Captain Fordham. It was three days after they had reached dry land, and DiNozzo had no idea what strings had been pulled to postpone this meeting, but he was infinitely grateful. He had needed those three days, and he knew it by the way they were a hazy blur of Abby and Ducky—and Gibbs—watching over him at his apartment while he slept and performed only basic functions needed for life. It was the dance of recovery, and he knew the steps well.

Looking at Gibbs now, Tony could clearly remember the look on his boss's face that first night when Tony had dragged himself into his apartment, battered and bruised and exhausted, and gone straight to the window, shutting it firmly.

"Will you put the AC on?" he asked Gibbs, whose mouth twitched in a smile Tony wasn't sure he had ever seen before. "It's hot as hell in here."

Gibbs had put a gentle hand on his arm before nodding with that strange smile. "Welcome home, Tony," he had said, almost tentatively, before shutting the rest of the windows and turning on the air while Tony watched him through suddenly blurry vision that had nothing to do with his swollen face.

Okay, so maybe he didn't know _all _the steps to this particular style of recovery, but at least he had partners willing to flail with him on the dance floor until they got it mostly right.

Tony shifted his weight, bringing his cast up to rest on the ledge with a little wince that he knew McGee and Ziva saw in his reflection in the glass. But neither of them tripped over their faces to ask him if he was okay, if he needed anything, if they could do something for him. Ziva expressed it all in a soft smile, McGee in a restless little shift of his own.

"Are you all right, Anthony?"

Tony smiled, feeling the tug of his healing split lip as he nodded at the doctor. He didn't have to ask why Ducky was here for this, just like he didn't have to ask who had orchestrated his presence. And he didn't mind the question. The man was a doctor, after all.

"Just getting bored," Tony answered, still staring at Gibbs' completely unreadable face. He knew the file Gibbs was leafing through contained everything related to his case, including big glossy photos of his wounds. Tony knew they were facedown at the back of the file, but he also knew Gibbs would pull them out if he needed to—but only if he absolutely couldn't break Fordham any other way. Because DiNozzo knew Gibbs knew he was watching.

DiNozzo also knew the file contained notes from Gibbs' interrogation with Hannah Squire, during which the woman had admitted to killing Doug Lowe and Damon Willis, and having an affair with the captain. She had also admitted to seducing Edward Daly, and while it wouldn't revive the man's career, at least maybe he would get a little bit of peace. DiNozzo had wondered how Gibbs had gotten her to admit to that last part when there was absolutely no evidence.

Then he mentally headslapped himself. It was Gibbs, after all.

But Squire had denied having a role in any part of Tony's actual attack and had conveniently alibied the captain for that night.

So DiNozzo was mildly surprised when Gibbs' first words were "Hottie Hannah."

Fordham's eyes jerked up at the broken silence—and the words used to shatter that carefully built tension. A slow smile crept over his face as he obviously remembered the heat of that particular body.

The smile faded quickly. "What about her?"

"She admitted to having an affair with you," Gibbs said, still not looking at the captain. He paused, then finally looked up. "And to killing Lowe and Willis."

"Did she now?" Fordham asked, sounding disinterested.

"She's going to prison for a long time," Gibbs commented. "Kind of kills any chance of you two having a relationship."

Fordham shrugged. "Guess so," he said, forcing his tone blank. He obviously didn't understand the line of questioning, but he was doing his best to give noncommittal answers.

"But it was good while it lasted?"

Fordham wasn't smart enough to know that wasn't a question. "Yes, it was," he said, starting to sound mystified.

"Tell me," Gibbs said, but without the bark of an order. "What's she like?"

"Gorgeous," Fordham answered immediately.

Gibbs smiled and flipped her service record photo onto the table. "Well, yeah."

A flash of longing and despair flicked through Fordham's gaze as it settled onto the pretty blue eyes smiling up from the glossy print. He forced his eyes away and looked at the corner of the room. "She really liked dating the captain of the ship," he continued.

Gibbs nodded conspiratorially. "She like the danger of knowing you could get caught?"

Fordham smiled. "Oh yeah. We had sex all over that ship, and she never complained. She was very eager to please me."

"Good at that, too?" Gibbs asked, sounding suddenly disinterested and impatient to move on.

The captain blinked a few times before smiling smugly. "What can I say?" he said, grinning lasciviously. "She's good at following orders."

"Then I bet she loved sleeping with Daly to get him tossed from the ship," Gibbs said, steely blue eyes suddenly boring into Fordham's.

The captain flinched. "She did what I told her to do," he said sullenly. "Even if we both knew I didn't like it."

"And she just loved putting those bullets through your associates."

Fordham's brain suddenly caught up with his arrogance. He shook his head slowly. "I didn't order her to kill them."

A muscle ticked in Gibbs' jaw, but his expression remained unchanged. "But you did order them to kill her."

In the observation room, DiNozzo heard McGee's sharp intake of breath and just smiled.

Fordham sputtered angrily in confusion. "No! I didn't. I—"

"Just like you planned on killing North all along," Gibbs interrupted. "They all had to die for you to take full ownership of the drugs we found in one of those shipping crates. The drugs Corpsman Lowe had been over-ordering and stockpiling. Did any of the others even know about that part of the scam? I bet they found out. And that's why you needed to kill them. Including Hannah. She's a nurse, so she was helping Lowe, right? And you love her, I don't doubt that. But you love money more. So you and Lowe were going to stage the gunfight, kill them all, and then what? You kill Lowe and ride off into the sunset?"

"I would never hurt Hannah," Fordham seethed. "You think you know everything. You don't know shit."

"But that's how it went down, right?" Gibbs asked, letting the burn in his eyes go cold. "You let them go from the brig—which was spectacularly stupid, by the way—so they could kill her so you wouldn't have to do it yourself."

"I let them go to _protect_ her," Fordham cried. "I didn't trust anyone else to keep her safe. Bubba wanted her, but she said no. She came crying to me that he had been all over her, and she wanted me to stop it. So there was no way in hell I'd let her be alone with him without protection. I knew she would never be safe until I could kill him."

In observation, McGee's jaw dropped. "Did he just…?"

"Get him to admit to premeditated murder?" Tony finished with a smile. "Yeah. And he's not done yet."

"That's amazing," McGee said, sounding in awe of their boss.

"That's why Gibbs is the best," Tony said, still grinning.

"I should observe more often," Ducky said, chuckling quietly.

Fordham's face showed he had no idea what he'd just admitted, and Gibbs just continued casually, "So back to the drugs. You were the mastermind behind that, right?"

In observation, Ziva grinned. "Ah, he calls him an idiot and now he strokes the ego. Keeps him guessing."

"The man is one arrogant bastard," McGee said.

"Better hope he spills, though," DiNozzo said, thinking about the reports he had read. "There's nothing on paper tying him to the drugs in that crate."

Fordham had been silent in the next room while the agents spoke, as if he was gathering his thoughts. A slow smile spread across his face, and Tony felt his stomach tighten at the coolness in the captain's expression.

"I had nothing to do with that," Fordham said calmly.

The observers all watched Gibbs for his reaction. They were mostly expecting the slight tightening of his mouth, but none of them expected his words.

"That's too bad," Gibbs said, shrugging. "I would have liked to add a couple decades to your sentence for killing North. Oh well."

There was a long silence in both rooms before Ziva finally asked, "So that is it? What is Gibbs waiting for? He looks like he is priming the captain for something."

She glanced around the room and saw Tony's left hand flicking open and closed, and saw Ducky's almost imperceptible shift closer to the agent, and she realized. "Oh," she said, blushing slightly. "Right."

"What are we even doing here?" Fordham asked suddenly, almost as if he had heard Ziva. "You know I killed Bubba. You were there. You wanted me to confess to taking the drugs, and I didn't."

He saw Gibbs' predatory smile, misread it, and added hastily, "Because I didn't."

Gibbs shifted in his seat, turning his back to the window. There was a very big part of him that hated what he was about to do.

"So the night you almost killed my agent," he said, grateful that he had at least had the foresight to ask Ducky to be in observation for this. "Maybe you can tell me a story about that, since I already told you one."

"Wasn't there," Fordham said, staring at his hands folded neatly on the table in front of him.

"Fucking liar," Tony whispered, his eyes suddenly falling on Fordham's hands. The remembered feel of those hands on him, of the knife tearing his skin made him shudder, and he covered it with a small stretch but felt Ducky inch closer to him. He knew McGee and Ziva were staring at him because of the soft epithet, but he didn't care. His focus was elsewhere.

"Funny," Gibbs said, his tone anything but. "But my agent remembers hearing you ordering them to hold him down."

Fordham didn't react—but Tony did. Just hearing those words again, seeing the captain's cold eyes, his big hands made Tony's breath quicken. But he shook himself mentally, told himself to get a grip.

"Say it," Gibbs barked, suddenly rising and getting in Fordham's face. "Just like you did that night, say it."

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," Fordham stammered, trying to lean back and get away from Gibbs' blazing eyes.

"Say it," Gibbs repeated, his harsh tone echoing slightly in the small room.

Ducky winced at the fury in his friend's eyes even as he tried to focus on Tony, who was standing slightly in front of him. The doctor could see his breathing had picked up, and he could almost see the fumes of tension wafting off of his tense shoulders.

"Say it," Gibbs said again, this time in a low growl that practically guaranteed compliance.

"Hold him down," Fordham said quietly.

Gibbs made a noise that wasn't exactly words—or particularly human-sounding.

Fordham flinched, looked away, and then turned to the glass and bellowed, "Hold him down!"

Tony felt cold nausea roll through his belly as he found himself suddenly flat on his back in that room again, smelling his own blood.

"Anthony."

His own name, softly spoken in that familiar accent, was enough to set him back in the present, and Tony let out the breath he was holding and opened his eyes. He met Ducky's steady gaze in the reflection and wondered how the doctor knew just how to handle him.

DiNozzo lifted a hand and knocked sharply on the window twice.

Ducky said, "You don't have to stay, Anthony. You don't have to put yourself through this."

"You know I do, Ducky," he returned, sounding calm as the Chesapeake on a summer day.

Ducky just nodded and stepped beside Tony, his shoulder barely brushing the agent's. But it was enough. Tony refocused on the interrogation room where Gibbs was grinning.

"Hear that?" the agent asked, his eyes a sharp, hard contrast to his bright expression. "You were there that night, all right."

Fordham shifted his hands nervously, wincing at the rattling of the shackles. He pulled false courage from thin air and said, "That doesn't prove anything. He's crazy. He tried to kill himself."

Gibbs just glared.

Fordham's bravado gathered steam fueled by his arrogance. "I was with Hannah that night. And you don't have any proof otherwise," he said. "He was depressed and opened a vein. How is that my fault?"

"He was attacked and nearly killed," Gibbs spat, wondering if Ducky had convinced Tony to leave observation but knowing it would never happen.

"Well, not by me," Fordham shot back.

"Who says he was depressed?"

"He came to me about his nightmares," Fordham said, laughing lightly. "Poor baby."

Gibbs held back his grin at the admission—and his fury at the mocking tone.

"That was nice of you to let him sleep in his office," Gibbs said, watching the man nod with a sickening graciousness. Gibbs allowed himself a little smile. "Convenient for you, too, though. Getting him alone. Away from bunkmates. From anyone who might hear his screaming."

"As the captain of the ship, I did the agent afloat a favor," Fordham said dismissively. "That's all."

Gibbs didn't speak for a long moment. He just watched the captain thinking.

"And that should _help_ my case," Fordham said, his eyes lighting up. "I did him a favor. I was nice to him. Why would I do that if I wanted to kill him?"

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Are you not paying attention? I just told you that. To get him away from his bunkmates. To isolate him so you could attack him without an audience."

Fordham swallowed hard and tried to backpedal. "Well, I—I did it for his bunkmates, too," he said, his tone and body language screaming "liar!" He continued, "One of them came to me about him waking him up yelling and babbling about his dead mother or something. I did it for them, too."

Gibbs smiled. "Oh, so you knew about his mother's death, then?"

Fordham was silent.

"Nothing to say to that?" Gibbs asked, then nodded, throwing up his hands in mock defeat. "Okay. So you didn't attack him that night. It was just Willis, Lowe and North, then. He remembers three people holding him down so that makes sense."

The captain eyed him warily.

"Then tell me why you hauled him out of that office with me at gunpoint?" Gibbs asked, his tone having gone from friendly to fiendish in a flash. "Why did you shove that knife in his face? Why did you rest that blade against his barely healed scars? Because that doesn't make much sense if you didn't attack him."

Fordham stared blankly long enough for Gibbs to decide to help him out. "Maybe you just wanted to scare him? For some other reason? Surely you weren't trying to re-enact the night you tried to kill him."

"No," Fordham sputtered. "I didn't try to kill him. I was afraid your agents would find the drugs Lowe and I had stashed, and I had to create a diversion. Yeah, I did that. But I never hurt him, I swear."

"Swish," Tony managed, despite the memories of that blade on his skin threatening to choke him.

"Two more points for Gibbs," McGee said, smiling.

"I have a feeling it's going to be a shutout," Ducky concurred.

"That moron just admitted to the drug smuggling," Ziva said, shaking her head at his stupidity and thinking he wouldn't last 30 seconds with Mossad.

"He thinks he's going to get out of the attempted murder charge by admitting to the lesser sin," McGee said, shrugging.

"Too bad he doesn't know Gibbs," Tony said, feeling suddenly less shaky.

"Good thing he doesn't know Gibbs, I would say," Ducky said.

"Thanks for proving that," Gibbs said.

Fordham sneered. "Fine, so you know I knew about the drugs."

"Well, yeah, that," Gibbs said, grinning. "And thanks for proving that you're a liar."

The captain frowned, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

"You said you never hurt my agent?" Gibbs asked, but he continued without giving the dirtbag a chance to backpedal. "I should bring him in here so you can see the damage you did to him. You broke his nose, his ribs. That's assaulting a federal officer, you know."

"Big deal," the captain said, adopting forced casualness again even though his hands were shaking hard enough to rattle the cuffs slightly. "I'm still going down for murder. I don't know why you're even bothering with this."

_Because Tony deserves to know what you animals did to him that night, _Gibbs thought. _To hear you admit to what you did. _But he stayed silent, knowing Fordham had a tendency to fill the stretches—unwise as it was.

Fordham smiled coldly. "And you won't bring him in here. Not after he threatened to kill me."

Gibbs' smile was positively glacial, making the captain's seem practically sunny in comparison. He flipped the file open and tossed the glossy photos of Tony's wrists onto the table, the close-ups showing the black-stitched ugliness in all of its gruesome brutality. "I don't have to bring him in here to show you what you animals did to him."

Tony flinched as soon as the photos hit the table, and he swallowed the nausea that rose in his throat. He felt Ducky's hand hovering near his elbow, but the doctor didn't touch him. Tony breathed slowly, carefully, as deeply as he could through the pain in his damaged ribs. He let his eyes close against the open stares of his teammates, knowing they couldn't help it.

When he opened his eyes again, he smiled.

The sick look on Fordham's face was oddly gratifying.

And the knowledge that Gibbs had barely started on the sick bastard was even more satisfying.

Tony watched Gibbs turn slightly in his seat and slide the photos a few inches to the side, effectively blocking Tony's view of them. He tried not to think too hard about how Gibbs knew where he would be and simply chalked it up to Gibbs being Gibbs.

Fordham shook his head fiercely. "I did not do that," he breathed, but there was no conviction in his lie.

And Gibbs saw it. "Since we've already proved you're a liar…"

Fordham flinched hard, shaking his head again. "That's it. I'm done," he said, sounding defeated but firm. "I'm done talking to you. This interview is over."

"Okay," Gibbs agreed amiably. He paused, taking the time to wish he could look through the mirror and see how Tony was holding up on the other side. He took a breath to steel himself. "Interview's over, then."

"Huh?" McGee said in observation, glancing at Tony and noting the paleness of his face. The bruises under his eyes made him look like a raccoon—a very tired, distressed raccoon—and Tim was glad that Ducky was glued to the agent's side.

DiNozzo just shook his head and frowned. "It's storytime, Probie. Gibbs doesn't need him to participate to nail him. Not yet anyway."

"Let me tell you a story, then," Gibbs was saying to a wide-eyed Fordham. "You don't have to talk. Unless you want to. And feel free to correct me if I'm wrong."

Fordham just stared, looking suddenly distressed himself.

"So here we go," Gibbs started, his voice low and unhurried. "There once were four little dirtbags—and a woman, because, well, isn't there always a woman? And these dirtbags are on a boat with an evil villain. A villain who believes in justice and honor and doing the right thing—you know, a real bad guy. So these little dirtbags are going about their merry way breaking the laws of the country they're supposed to be defending. And they realize the villain isn't going to like that—and that he's good enough to catch them."

Ducky watched Tony listen in awe to Gibbs' patient, wholly uncharacteristic storytelling and knew he was hearing that and barely focusing on the details of the grim tale. The doctor smiled, giving Gibbs a mental pat on the back for that particular tactic.

Gibbs suddenly dropped all pretense of amicability, his voice threaded with steel as he continued. "So you dirtbags decide to take him out. You knew about his nightmares, about his mother's death. You knew his schedule, knew Benny wouldn't be around on a Thursday night. You knew about the closet in his office, knew someone small enough could fit in there. You knew you could simply wait for him to come back, to fall asleep. You knew that the group of you could easily overpower him while he slept, could easily slice him open like a fish. You knew you could stand there and wait, just watch him slowly bleed to death."

Ducky watched Tony's face in the glass, watched him struggle to stay impassive while Gibbs spoke in a low, flat, completely emotionless tone that slowly kindled into crackling fury. Ducky watched Tony shudder and bolt for the door, leaving his shocked team staring after him as he fled.

McGee found his voice quickly and asked, "Should we stop him before he kills the captain?"

Ducky just shook his head. "That's precisely what Anthony is going to do. Stop Jethro from killing him."

Gibbs had Tony's inscribed knife in his hand when DiNozzo burst through the door, and Gibbs raised it to a shocked Fordham's throat and snarled, "But you didn't know that Benny would come back that night. You didn't know that his quick thinking would keep you scum from killing my agent. You didn't know that he would be strong enough to fight his way back from hell. You didn't know that when I say I've got someone's back, I mean it." Gibbs let the blade touch Fordham's neck, just below a pounding pulse point. His eyes were rage itself when he growled, "And you didn't know what this knife means to him."

"Gibbs."

The lead agent's eyes jerked to Tony's.

"Don't."

Gibbs looked back at Fordham with disgust and released him.

"See? Justice and honor and doing the right thing," Gibbs said, still seething and wishing there were no cameras trained on the three of them at that moment.

Justice had plenty of ways of being served.

DiNozzo stepped forward and took the knife from Gibbs' shaking hand and slipped it into his pocket. "Thanks, Boss," he said quietly. His gaze flicked to Fordham and then back. "You got this?" he asked, his words only half the question.

Gibbs took a breath and nodded slowly, his eyes still burning like gas flames. "I got this."

Tony nodded and rejoined a shocked speechless observation room. They all watched Gibbs simply stare at the man he had almost killed.

Ducky finally patted Tony's arm and said, "You did the right thing."

"Remind me of that later," Tony said, his growl as fierce as Gibbs' best on any day.

Ducky blinked at the rage in his green eyes, but he just shook his head slowly. "I doubt I'll need to, Anthony."

"Where was I?" Gibbs asked, forcing a smile onto his face when he really wanted to choke the life out of the man across from him. But if Tony could get through this without killing someone, then dammit, so could he.

Fordham's eyes shifted to the door at Gibbs' words, but the agent just continued, "So who was where, exactly?"

The captain just stared blankly.

"Okay," Gibbs said, rolling his eyes. "I'll play along. Let's see. Willis. He's a big guy so he's definitely one of the animals holding my agent's arms down. Where's Willis? On the right? My agent's right-handed so that makes sense. You'd want your strongest guy on his dominant side. Did you discuss this beforehand, by the way? Like making dinner plans? No? Okay. Whatever. So that puts Lowe on the left. And you, you just watched, right? You didn't want his blood on your hands. Figuratively? Literally? You squeamish, Captain? I bet you are. So you got Bubba to do it because you couldn't handle it."

Fordham bristled, but still didn't speak.

"Yeah, Bubba was definitely the cutter. Big guy, able to hold my agent down and keep him pinned there, scared and helpless, unable to move or scream. You were just there to give orders. Like when you told them to hold him down. Who lost their grip when he started struggling? Because I know he did. I know Tony and he wouldn't go down without a hell of a fight. So was it Lowe who slipped? You? Maybe you were on the left? You wanted to join the fun? And whose idea were the pillows? That was smart. Kept you animals from leaving bruises on him. I bet that was Bubba's idea."

Tony put his left hand on his belly, feeling suddenly sick at the memory of fighting against those strong hands when he had realized what was coming. He suddenly wished he had let Gibbs slash the man's throat. He took a deep breath, felt Ducky's solid presence beside him, saw that McGee's and Ziva's eyes were locked on the scene in front of them, and he felt grounded again.

"Did anyone balk?" Gibbs asked, casual as asking the time. "Any one of you animals watch him lying there, terrified and hurting, and think twice? Hannah maybe? She's a nurse so she's not squeamish like you, but could she hurt someone purposely? Maybe Lowe tried to back out? Nah, it was Hannah. So maybe Bubba starts cutting and that's when Hottie Hannah can't take the heat? Maybe she saw the blood and panicked. Did she go back into that closet to hide when Bubba wouldn't stop? Because she was the one who hid when he left the door unlocked that night. She's small enough."

Fordham's face was a mask of fear, but he didn't say a word.

"Or maybe she tried to stop it? So how hard did she fight to make Bubba stop hurting him? You said she didn't like Bubba. She was afraid of him, right? But did she fight him? Nah, she didn't. I think she touched him, maybe just lightly, and she turned those pretty eyes on him. She probably batted those long lashes and looked at him sweetly when she begged him to stop. Did that piss you off? Watching her touch him? Watching her ask him to go against your orders while she put her hands all over him?"

Fordham's cuffed fists hit the table at the same time. "Enough!" he snarled. "Did she fight? Hell yes, she fought. With me. She wanted the knife from me. She wanted to do it herself, to see what it would feel like to take a life instead of saving one. But I wouldn't let her because I didn't think she was strong enough to cut him deep enough. I had to do it to make sure…"

He trailed off, realizing all that he had said.

Gibbs just watched, leaning back with a satisfied—if somewhat shaky—smile. He knew he had nailed Fordham, but he also knew that Tony had heard every word of it. He suddenly wondered if it had been worth it, and he stood, as eager to get away from the scumbag as he was to see if Tony was all right.

"Wait," Fordham said, his tone absolute defeat.

Gibbs paused, looking down at the man as he would raw sewage.

"How did you know?" Fordham asked, his voice whiny and pleading. "How did you know where everyone was?"

Gibbs shrugged, wanting to get out of the room, quickly. "Logical deductions."

Fordham looked lost and still thoroughly stunned. "But Lowe was small, too. How did you know Hannah was the one who hid that night?"

Gibbs grinned genuinely, feeling the weight of past few weeks lifting off his shoulders.

"Hell, Captain," he said, turning toward the door. "I didn't even know she was there."


	56. Chapter 56

Tony was waiting in the hall for him when Gibbs stepped out of interrogation. Gibbs tried to read his agent's face, but the bruises made it an even more difficult task than usual. So Gibbs read his eyes instead.

They were shining.

"You okay?" Gibbs asked, taking in the tremors in Tony's hands.

A slow smile crept across Tony's battered face. "I should ask you that," he said, his gaze making Gibbs realize his own hands were just as tremulous. "You're the one who just went three rounds with a killer."

Gibbs grinned. "Him? He was no heavyweight, that's for sure."

"You still took him down," Tony said appreciatively. "It was brilliant, Boss. I feel… better. Just knowing. I don't know how to thank you."

Gibbs didn't speak, so Tony said, "Or maybe I do. Let me buy you dinner? I know a brand-new restaurant that's gonna be the talk of the District."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Benny's got that place open already?"

Tony shrugged. "It's more of a pre-opening celebration. Come on, Boss. Marines don't turn down free chow."

"And alcohol?" Gibbs asked, throwing a sidelong glance at Tony's smiling face as they made their way down the hall.

Tony laughed. "I'm sure Benny can scare up a bottle of bourbon for you, Boss," he said. "Probably not a boat, but maybe he'll let us hang out in the basement."

Gibbs just shook his head to hide his grin. He lifted a hand and smacked Tony across the back of the head.

"Hey!" he yelped, smoothing a hand over his hair. "What was that for?"

"Technically, you won't be _buying_ me dinner tonight."

Tony grinned. "Yeah, no way in hell Benny is going to charge me a dime. I saved his life, at great risk to my own safety."

"That really was a damned fool thing to do, DiNozzo," Gibbs said sternly, his gaze flicking to the cast protecting Tony's broken hand.

"What happened to 'that was the most brilliant thing you've ever done'?" Tony asked, feigning outrage.

Gibbs eyed him sideways. "You remember the exact words I said?"

"Well, hell, Boss," Tony said, lifting a shoulder. "I'd frame 'em if I could."

"You could try stitching them on a pillow," Gibbs said, suddenly thinking of Kate—and how glad he was that he hadn't lost another agent. That he hadn't lost _Tony. _He wasn't sure he could survive that again.

He stopped suddenly and put a hand on Tony's arm, bringing the younger man up short beside him. Tony just watched him, waiting for him to speak. Gibbs looked away for a moment before turning back and meeting Tony's patient green gaze.

"Thank you," Gibbs said softly. "I don't know that I could have stopped myself back there."

Tony saw just how uncomfortable Gibbs was with expressing that sentiment so he just grinned brightly. "You scared me for a minute there," he said, watching Gibbs study him. "I thought you were going to ream me out for a flagrant violation of Rule No. 22."

Gibbs had to think for a moment before laughing out loud. "Sounds like it needs a revision, DiNozzo," he said, heading for the bullpen.

Tony frowned. "Never, ever interrupt Gibbs in interrogation… unless?"

"Unless I'm about to murder a suspect."

"Unless you're about to murder a suspect." Tony nodded, grinning. "Got it, Boss."

* * *

They piled out of two cars in front of an unmarked building later that night. Gibbs looked up at the darkened windows with skepticism.

"You sure this is it?" he asked.

There was an ear-splitting shriek, and Tony suddenly found his arms full of a highly-excited Abby. He spit a strand of black pigtail from his mouth and nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

Gibbs peeled the bouncing Goth off his still-recovering agent. "Don't hurt him, Abbs. He's going to be on desk duty long enough."

Tony's groan had nothing to do with physical pain. "Hell, don't remind me."

Abby looked up at him, her eyes shining. "But at least it's _your _desk, Tony."

He smiled down at her and followed his team into the restaurant. The inside was decidedly more put-together than the outside—and it actually looked like a restaurant, with tables and chairs and everything. Looking around at the oddly elegant mismatch of chairs, Tony realized why Abby had been so noticeably absent during the past few days, showing up only late at night.

"How many thrift stores did you raid to find all these?" he asked, finally noticing the varnish stains on her hands.

"Beats me, but I think I lost a pound or six with all that walking," Benny said, emerging from the kitchen and approaching the group.

Tony grinned, eyeing his large frame. "Yeah, I bet," he said, his gaze dropping to the cane the cook was leaning on. "I can tell. You look good, Benny."

Benny rolled his eyes, then focused pointedly on Tony's bruised face. "You're looking might fine yourself." He turned to the rest of the group. "Hey there, y'all. Welcome. I'm glad you could make it."

They smiled and nodded greetings, all surprised when it was Gibbs who spoke first.

"Eh, Benny? It's a nice place, but your chairs don't match."

Abby laughed out loud. "That's the point, Gibbs. They're all unique, like this place. And they do match, kind of," she said, holding up her hands. "I made sure of that."

Benny smiled appreciatively. "And thanks again, Abby. I couldn't have done it without you. Especially the upholstery," he said, nodding to the bright red fabric on the black-varnished chairs.

"You let me pick the colors," Abby said, shrugging. "I'm just glad I could help."

"So firearms expert, mechanic, upholsterer, electrician with Habitat for Humanity," Tony said, ticking off each on his fingers. _Personal therapist_, he added silently, his thoughts conveyed as he looked down at her, thoroughly enjoying the fact that she had barely moved from his side. "Is there anything you can't do?"

She just grinned back at him. "You forgot epic bowler."

"With nuns," McGee added.

"Bowling nuns?" Benny said, shaking his head slowly. "Why does that not surprise me?"

"Because it's Abby," Gibbs said, leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on her cheek.

The movement made Tony realize he was literally surrounded by friends—people who had gone to hell and back for him. Instead of feeling trapped and uncomfortable as he once might have, he simply felt warm.

Gibbs glanced at the shiny stretch of mahogany at the far end of the large dining room. "You got a bar in this bar?"

Benny grinned. "Might even have some bourbon," he said. "But Abby's going to have to take care of you fine folks. I need to finish up in the kitchen or we'll all starve."

"Then why are you still here?" Gibbs deadpanned, drawing grins from the team as they made their way to the unique assortment of vintage bar stools.

Abby took her place behind the bar and soon had everyone enthralled—and slightly buzzed—with her bottle-flipping talents. She began a long story about the latest antics at the convent, updating everyone on the saga of the pregnant nun, and Tony stood, excusing himself quietly. Ziva laid a soft hand on his wrist, and he hissed softly, jerking his hand away.

And then a curious thing happened. Even though Gibbs' icily intense gaze stayed glued to Tony's face, and Abby's monologue halted briefly, no one commented. Abby simply started talking again, making McGee laugh so hard he choked on his drink. Ziva's hand tightened on Tony's wrist, and he nodded, thumping McGee on the back as he passed.

"I'm going to catch up with Benny," Tony said, and received nods as his only acknowledgment.

He was smiling when he entered the kitchen and feeling totally nostalgic as he settled at a long, shiny counter opposite his friend.

"That's a wild crowd out there," Benny said, nodding as laughter drifted through the swinging doors.

"They're the best," Tony said, watching the cook expertly slice vegetables in rapid succession. The big knife in Benny's efficient hand suddenly made him shiver, and he asked quickly but softly, "So how are you doing, Benny?"

The knife stilled in the air, but Tony couldn't tell if it was the question or if Benny had seen—or sensed—his discomfort.

"Leg's fine," he said mildly, resuming his slicing. "Gets a little better every day, and it didn't even hurt while Abby was dragging me all over town."

"That's a nice cane," Tony commented pointedly.

Benny simply grinned. "Just a formality," he said, pausing and studying Tony's battered face. He noted the way the agent had his left arm tucked protectively against his damaged side. "Some people actually listen to their doctors."

"And that was a nice feint," Tony said, his eyes troubled. "But how are you doing, Benny? Bubba was your friend, and seeing what you had to see out there…"

Benny's eyes darkened for a moment before he shrugged. "About that," he said, scooping up some carrots and tossing them into a pan, "I'm mostly just pissed that I didn't see him for the monster that he was."

"Neither did I," Tony said, giving a little shrug himself. Tonight was going to be fun, he decided, not a time for second-guessing or remembering things best forgotten. "And I was the big bad agent afloat."

Benny's smile was completely genuine. "I miss our card games," he said. "We should keep doing that, maybe invite some of your team."

"I'd like that," Tony said sincerely, a grin creeping across his face. "And we could play for real money now."

Benny threw a carrot at him. "No way in hell, man. You were the big bad, _freakin' cheatin'_ agent afloat."

Tony laughed, then winced when Benny cursed as the knife slipped in his wet grasp, slicing his finger deep enough to draw a thin line of blood. Tony stared, then closed his eyes and found himself suddenly flat on his back, struggling against too-strong captors and feeling the pain of a razor-sharp knife tearing open his—

"Hey."

Benny's voice broke through the fog, and Tony saw that he was standing right beside him. He hadn't even noticed Benny wrapping the bleeding finger in a towel or coming around the counter, but he felt the reassuring weight of the cook's big hand on his shoulder.

"I'm fine," Benny said softly, his uninjured hand moving from Tony's shoulder to his face, forcing his eyes away from the bloody blade to his own gentle brown gaze. "And so are you."

Tony blinked, banishing the terrifying memories with a surprising ease. He nodded, smiling shakily. "Yeah. I am," he said, reaching up to take Benny's hand and peel back the towel.

But Benny just shrugged. "It's fine," he said, heading back around the counter and pulling a latex glove from a box. He snapped it on, tossed the bloody knife into the sink and pulled a clean one from a drawer. "So Sunday nights?" he asked. "I'm thinking I'll be open six days a week and closed on Sundays, so we could do poker night then?"

"Yeah, sounds good," Tony said, glad Benny wasn't making too big a deal over his temporary panic. He smiled. "Thanks, Benny. For everything."

Benny eyed him, saw the intensity of the gratitude in his stare, and just laughed. "Don't thank me yet," he said, turning to stir a pot. "You haven't even tasted it yet."

* * *

Benny followed Tony back into the dining room, grabbing a stack of menus from the box that had been recently delivered. He smiled at the cover, then winced as he watched Tony settle carefully into his seat between Gibbs and Abby at the big table. Benny wanted to ask Tony if he was in pain, but he knew it wouldn't be a good idea so he settled for giving his shoulder a quick squeeze and dropping the first menu in front of the injured agent.

Tony laughed out loud at the stylized name on the front.

"You named the restaurant 'Ricochet'?" he asked, still chuckling and twisting in his chair to look up at the big man behind him.

"What? You said I needed something classy."

"That's classy?" Tony asked, his trademark megawatt grin brightly, rightly in place.

Benny just lifted a shoulder. "Hell if I know. But it does sound French."

The table erupted into laughter, broken up only by the tinkling of the bells over the door that marked new arrivals. Tony grinned at Ducky and Palmer, and raised an eyebrow as Director Vance followed them through the dining room.

They exchanged greetings, everyone commenting on the stylish menu and mouth-watering descriptions inside. And then they all sighed when Benny announced that their menu for the evening was slightly more limited.

"Aw, no fair," Abby complained with a smile. "I thought knowing the owner made us VIPs."

"Well," Benny returned, his grin as bright as the Goth's, "I guess you'll just have to come back—repeatedly."

Abby nodded enthusiastically. "Careful, B, or you might end up with all of us as permanent residents here."

"Nah." Benny shook his head, glancing at Gibbs. "Not all of you. There's no basement."

Gibbs reached up with his menu and smacked the cook across the back of the head, making his dark eyes light up with joy.

He reached up and rubbed a hand over his hair, unconsciously mimicking Tony's frequent reaction to the gentle taps. "My first headslap," he said, sounding slightly awed. "I feel like I'm part of the team. Like maybe I should get a badge and a gun, and I could start running around with y'all, chasing dirtbags. I'd be a big help, too, I'm sure. Well, because I'm big. I could break down doors and junk. Like that time when Tony and McGee pulled a B&E on that whale-hugging weirdo who tried to attack the submarine."

"I did _not_ hear that," Vance said with a wry grin and a shake of the head as he interrupted Benny's Abby-esque ramble. He, too, must have noticed the similarity because he suddenly turned to the Goth and asked, "So, Miss Sciuto, I've been meaning to ask you. What exactly _is_ a disco stick?"

* * *

Dinner was a light-hearted, relaxing affair that lasted much longer than the actual eating part. At one point, Abby noticed that Tony had been gone a while and she quietly excused herself to go look for him. She found him on the back patio, sitting on a railing and staring out into the warm summer night.

"Hey, you," she said softly, thinking back to the night on his balcony and hoping he hadn't slipped back into the dark despair she had seen that evening.

Having spent the past few nights with him, she had noticed that he both was and wasn't the same Tony. He still made good use of his quick wit, smiling and joking as always, but there were also times when he would go quiet, apparently lost in his thoughts. She had noticed that he seemed more skittish with having people in his space, like the incident when Ziva touched him earlier. Abby didn't worry too much about that, though, because Tony had always been—as with so many things—a study in contrasts when it came to people being close to him, both physically and otherwise. She knew he often touched the people around him but had never really been comfortable with others touching him.

"Hey, Abbs," he said, turning with a smile.

She saw that the smile was genuine and she smiled back, at the same time noting his expression. "You want to go soon?" she asked. "You look tired."

"I'm okay," he said, not moving from his perch. "It's nice being around everyone again."

"Even Vance," Abby said, thinking about her wild descriptions of Lady Gaga earlier. "I'm surprised he showed up, considering how badly he treated you."

Tony just lifted a shoulder. "We've all got our issues," he said, stifling a yawn sheepishly. "I guess I am kind of tired."

"You're still recovering," Abby said, moving to take his arm. "Come on, I'll take you home."

"Home," he said softly, not getting up. "It's so nice to be back, to sleep in my own bed again."

"Must be," Abby agreed, her eyes dark and intense in the muted light streaming through French doors. "You haven't had the nightmares since you got back."

A bit unsettled by the look in her mossy green eyes, Tony joked, "Funny, I'd think I'd remember being in bed with you. I imagine whips and chains would be involved—"

"Tony," she said softly—but it stopped him cold. "I might believe in miracles, but I doubt this was spontaneous. What happened?"

He took a breath, looked into her eyes and was suddenly flooded with memories of them holding each other together—so many times throughout the years, after Kate, through Gibbs' leaving for Mexico, after Paula, Jenny…

"I did have a nightmare, the first night back. It was like the others, feeling their hands on me, the cutting, the heat of my blood, the shadowy attackers. But this time, they had faces. I could see each of them, right where Gibbs said they were. And it wasn't so terrifying anymore. Because there was no uncertainty. I knew what was happening—and I knew I would be okay. I woke up to you curled next to me, and Ducky snoring away on the couch, and I just knew I would be okay, even if…"

"Even if you need to not be okay," she finished for him. "Because you know we're all here for you."

Tony smiled, but he was feeling a bit uncomfortable with the intensity of the emotions surging through him—until he saw them mirrored in her eyes. "And I know the dreams might never go away," he said, feeling her move closer to him and for once not wanting to shy away. "And neither will the scars. And little things, like when Benny sliced his finger earlier, all that will still be there. But so will you—all of you. And I know that now. Thanks, Abby."

There were tears on her cheeks, and Tony pulled her into a hug, taking as much comfort from the gesture as he was giving. He heard a soft noise behind them and found Gibbs watching them. He wondered how long the man had been standing—how much he had heard—and realized he didn't care. Gibbs had been there for him throughout this whole mess, and he had no doubt his boss would be there through anything else they had to face.

"That was Rule 22 we revised, not Rule 12," Gibbs joked.

Abby pulled out of the embrace and made a disgusted face. "Ew, Gibbs," she said, tossing a sidelong glance at Tony's smiling face. "I may be from backwoods Louisiana, but I'd never date my brother—even if we're not blood."

Gibbs gave her a smile and a peck on the cheek. "You're missing dessert," he said, making her squeal and run for the door. She turned back at the last moment. "I'll try to save you some. Can't make any promises, though!"

The two men stared after the Goth, both smiling at her bubbly happiness before turning to face each other. Gibbs read the thoughts running through Tony's head just as he opened his mouth to verbalize them.

"Don't need any thank-yous," Gibbs said simply. He eyed his agent. "And definitely not any apologies."

Tony just smiled, wondering for the thousandth time how his boss read him so easily when he tried so hard not to let his feelings show. It made him wonder if he should really try so hard to keep it all hidden. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the knife he had brought along. _Rule No. 9, right?_

Seeing the blade, Gibbs stiffened slightly, wondering how best to accept the return of his gift and kicking himself for letting Tony keep it after the scene in the interrogation room. He studied Tony's face, looking for signs of the anguish this knife must cause him.

But he didn't find it.

Gibbs took the offered knife, holding Tony's grateful eyes for a long moment before looking down at the inscription on the handle and laughing.

_G—Just don't ever forget revised Rule No. 22—D _

Gibbs clapped a hand on Tony's shoulder, and they returned to the dining room. Gibbs lagged behind, sliding the knife into his pocket and watching Tony join the group. Abby immediately looped an arm around him, and they all laughed at something Benny was saying. Ducky lifted a hand and waved him over, the circle widening slightly to let him in.

And they stood there, reunited as a team, a family. Looking around at each other, their thoughts were also unified.

The nightmare was finally over.


End file.
